


Codename: Bane

by bidness



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Blood and Violence, Coffee Shops, Deception, Dubious Morality, Espionage, Flirting, Hotel Rooms, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Magnus Bane, Pining, Self-Doubt, Sexual Tension, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Alec Lightwood, Strangers to Lovers, Watcher Magnus Bane, partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bidness/pseuds/bidness
Summary: Magnus Bane meets Alec Lightwood by pure coincidence on two occasions: one morning in a quaint coffee shop, and again during a mission briefing for The Clave. It’s only supposed to be one mission, but leaked information and the kidnapping of his friend and mentor Ragnor Fell lead to undesirable predicaments, and hard as he tries to keep it professional, Magnus can’t help his growing affection for the spy he’s hired to watch and navigate through the murky treachery of espionage.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 54
Kudos: 183
Collections: Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2020 hosted by the [Malec Discord Server](https://discord.gg/5nBgEp8)!
> 
> Firstly, this has been an incredible event that has been so fun and exciting, and I'm so thankful to all of the mods who put this together, and to all the fellow writer/artists/betas on the server for all the help and support. It was such a fun experience for my first Bang, and I can't think of a better group to participate in this with, than them!
> 
> A huge thank you to [Myulalie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myulalie) for the amazing art posted in this fic! I loved seeing everything come to life and working on it together, and I appreciate all the cheerleading, it helped more than you know!!
> 
> To [Zia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alistoney): Thank you **so** , so much for all of the kind words and wonders you did for my poor attempts at grammar and sentence structure!! Your encouragement helped me get through this, and I couldn't have asked for a better beta!!!
> 
> Lastly, I want to dedicate this to [Sharona1x2](https://sharona1x2.tumblr.com/) for unknowingly inspiring me to turn this small idea into a bigger fic!
> 
> TW for this fic: violence/injury, depictions of blood, mentions of death (minor and very minor characters), and talk of vomit.

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

The first time that Magnus Bane meets Alec Lightwood, it’s a typical, ordinary accident. 

“I believe that’s mine,” a voice calls behind Magnus, before a disembodied hand reaches for the cup of coffee on the countertop in front of him. _Alec_ , the loopy barista’s scrawl reads, followed by a series of digits that can only form a phone number. 

“Someone must think you’re cute,” Magnus laughs, curiosity sparking his comment and his desire to turn and face the owner of the cup and hand in question. And he’s not disappointed, not at all, because the number that’s drawn along the body of the cup is a completely valid and expected response to the face that greets him. Boldly, he adds, “they’re not wrong.” 

The man – Alec – stares at him with both brows raised, but Magnus isn’t sure if it's surprise from his forward comment, or if Magnus just looks _that_ good today. Probably both. 

“Uh... yeah,” Alec says, and Magnus doesn’t hide the way his gaze trails from the wide hazel eyes, down the sharp jaw line and to the Adam’s apple that bobs against Alec’s throat with the sudden attention. Magnus is being extra, he _knows._ It’s barely six in the morning and he’s purposely acting thirsty as hell, but he’s had a long night and he really just wants to have a little fun. 

“Early start?” Magnus motions to the coffee in Alec’s hand, watches the steam rising in wisps through the drink hole of the lid for just a second before he turns his attention back to the now gloriously unperturbed face. 

“Late night,” comes the grumbled response as Alec presses the coffee to his lips and takes a tentative sip. Magnus pretends not to notice the way those eyes flicker over to him and away again, as though Alec wants to look but doesn’t want to seem eager. 

“We must be kindred.” 

Alec says nothing, and Magnus gives him the opportunity to take him in, to allow his eyes to roam and wander along the curves of his body, mentally praising himself for picking out something form-fitting last night. A coffee is slammed down onto the counter, and Magnus reaches for it with an amused smirk at the barista that’s watching him with narrowed eyes. _You must be the one who left the number_ , Magnus thinks as he tips his cup to her with a nod. If the way Alec’s eyes are watching him is any indication, she stood no chance. 

“Magnus.” 

The sound of his name, gruff and low behind him, catches his attention and he turns back to Alec with a beaming grin. “You know my name?” 

A long finger points to the cup in his hands, brushes along the name scratched into it far more indelicately than Alec’s was, and he has to push down the thought of sliding his hand up a little higher just to feel skin on skin. 

Fuck, he needs to get laid. 

“It’s on your cup,” Alec mumbles. “It’s a nice name.” 

The faintest tinge of pink on the high cheekbones doesn’t go unnoticed, but Magnus thinks it’s probably better not to comment on it. 

Instead, his sleep-deprived brain forms more innuendos to spew out, propositions that don’t belong in a coffee shop as the dawning orange of the sun peeks out from the horizon of the fading night sky. “I could show you nicer things about me, if you wanna get out of here?” Part of him regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth, wants to take them back with a forced laugh and an _'I’m kidding,’_ but something about the way Alec’s eyes flit across the room and take in the presence of absolutely nobody else makes Magnus pause. 

And he’s glad he does, because the sudden scent of cologne fills his senses as Alec takes a gratuitous step closer and brings a gentle hold to the point of his elbow. “Yeah,” he says unexpectedly, voice rumbling in a deep note that twists Magnus’ stomach with excitement, “let’s do that.” 

Magnus doesn’t have to be told twice. 

* * *

“Magnus, focus,” Catarina’s voice comes from behind him, tinged with irritation and amusement. 

“I’m trying, but you know how I get when Ragnor takes his calls in the office.” Magnus waves a hand in the air, a flourish that’s supposed to explain nothing and everything all at once. Catarina understands, she gets just as antsy when Ragnor’s cell phone rings in the office with the ominous trill of a number that only calls when the stars align. It’s frequently enough for them to recognize it, but just spread out enough through the weeks and months to not be habitual. 

“Yes, and _you_ know how Ragnor gets when he comes back every time and you’re still trying to fix the same customer’s motherboard.” 

He knows she’s right, Ragnor absolutely hates it when easy fixes drag on longer than necessary. _‘There’s no time for distraction, that’s not how I trained you.’_ He’s a hypocrite, really, Ragnor is the most easily distracted of them all. But Ragnor is his boss, so he’ll keep his thought to himself. At least while he’s on the clock. 

The minutes trickle by slowly, a dull tick on the clock that drums the beat of wasted hours staring at computer parts and holding onto tiny screwdrivers. A small company that does minor and major fixes on random people’s computers is the least of what he ever expected to be doing with his life. It’s tedious, sometimes incredibly boring, and hardly rewarding. But Magnus is good at it, exceptional even. Scouted from the sidelines of his friendship with Ragnor and placed into a world he never knew existed or expected to be privy to. 

Because it’s not just a random tech company that they work at. It’s something greater than that, an operation dealt just under the limitations of the government. They’re hidden in plain sight, offering services outside of clearing out viruses and annual computer checkups that pay more than Magnus makes in a year. Sometimes Ragnor or Cat will take meetings in the back office where the screen that blocks the window of the door will come down, where the stoney expression as they come out hints at activities that need not be spoken aloud in the middle of a shabby building surrounded by computers and regular people who are none the wiser.

Not that he’s much wiser than they are, or even involved at the moment. _You’re not ready_ , Ragnor had always said when Magnus’ impatience threatened to boil over. Maybe he’ll never be trained enough for a proper mission, a proper catapult into mild espionage and other covert acts. 

It’s still a little unclear exactly what Ragnor does, what Catarina does, too. They train him under the label of mentor, but he’s still a liability should he be afforded the details of their missions and what exactly they entail. It’s always with a ‘you’ll know what to do’ and a pat on the shoulder that they dismiss his questions. He knows the basics, and he supposes for now, that’s enough. 

It’s not all bad though, he learns a lot from them, he works on coding and learns how to encrypt and decrypt even the most complex strings. He’s a quick study, stays sharp, and likes to consider himself the attractive appeal in their little shop that’s a front for the unseemly of tech research. 

The click of Ragnor’s office door draws his and Catarina’s attention. His phone sits at his hip, lodged into the unsightly disaster of a phone holster that Magnus has tried valiantly to get rid of, to no avail. “Magnus,” Ragnor begins, as foreboding as the ringing of the phone from earlier, doing nothing to quell the startling of nerves that make their presence known. “Free up your schedule for tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” he responds slowly, elongating the words in a matter to indicate he wants to know why the fuck he needs to cancel his plans, especially on a Friday when he intends to spend the day in preparation for the very gorgeous, _very_ ready-to-go date he’s got set up with some guy he’s already forgotten the name of. 

“You’ve got a mission.” 

Catarina gasps, and the words don’t fully process until he’s staring at her wide smile and twinkling eyes. _Mission?_

Oh, well shit. 

Part of him feels the high of excitement bubbling in his chest, wants to jump up and down and pull Ragnor into a hug he’ll protest but return awkwardly. This is what he’s been wanting, all of his training, all of Ragnor’s mentoring has been leading up to this moment, this _mission_. He doesn’t know what it is, maybe it’s dangerous and deadly as some of Ragnor’s very vague and unfulfilling relaying has described from his own accounts. Maybe it’ll be boring and quick like Catarina’s tend to be, completely of her own choosing. 

Maybe it’ll be different. 

“You don’t want it?” Ragnor’s words cut into his thoughts, and only then does he notice the exasperated look from Magnus’ lack of enthusiastic response. 

“N - No, I do! I just–” 

“There's nothing to be nervous about Magnus, you’re going to be great,” comes Catarina’s soothing voice, warming his heart. 

“I know, I’m just wondering... why?” 

Ragnor watches him for a second, taking in the obvious doubt that starts to creep onto his face. Magnus isn’t normally such a worrier, he’s excited and boisterous, charming. Something shifts in Ragnor’s expression at the sight – a smile? 

“To be perfectly candid,” he says, “I’m actually feeling a bit under the weather, and I figure now is as good a time as any. You’re ready.” 

The smile he returns to Ragnor hurts his cheeks. It’s too stretched, he knows it’ll cause wrinkles if he does it too often, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that Catarina is mussing up his hair as she pulls him into a hug, or that Ragnor expectedly groans and pretends to push back when they pull him into it. After three long years of working, studying, altogether too many hours of simulations, tests to see if he was even capable enough, dissecting codes and putting them together again to be stronger than they were... Magnus is ready. 

* * *

The second time Magnus Bane meets Alec Lightwood is also another accident, although far more extraordinary than the first. 

The architecture of the building he’s standing in is rather impressive, with long archways that bend above him and minimalist decorating that tugs at the aesthetic flair inside of him. It’s not cozy, or inviting, and he’s thankful for that. In this business, it’s best to remain as clinical as possible, best not to get attached to anything, any place or anyone. 

“Mr. Bane.” 

Magnus turns, offering a professional smile and a firm grip to the man that greets him. “Mr. Lightwood, thank you for choosing me. I’d say I’m sorry that Ragnor couldn’t assist you today, but I’d much rather be here instead and it would be a lie anyways.” 

Robert Lightwood chuckles, polite and expected as these things usually are. There’s a man off to the side, presumably the person alerting Robert to Magnus’ presence, though the way he watches them with narrowed eyes is primed with suspicion. He looks familiar, but Magnus can’t quite place where from. “Well you come highly recommended, and I trust Ragnor implicitly. I’ll brief you and your partner for today’s mission in my office, follow me.” 

The walk is brisk, closer to a light jog but Magnus keeps pace and it’s only a matter of minutes until he’s sitting with one leg crossed over the other in an overly regal chair that contrasts against the exterior outside of the room. Papers are stacked on the desk, neat and piled high beside the plain manila folder that rests atop the ornate mahogany desk. There’s nothing of importance in this room, he’s sure. A business with a hand as deep as Robert Lightwood’s in criminal outlets wouldn’t dare keep information lying around. 

Robert reaches over the desk to grab the folder and hands it over to Magnus. 

“My son is uncharacteristically late, but let’s get started.” 

There’s the slight shock of surprise that strikes Magnus at the knowledge that Robert has family employed in the company, but it’s quickly shoved aside with the realization that it’s probably not considered that odd in this line of work. It’s a sensible decision; family is simultaneously more inclined to stab you in the back and also keep all of your darkest secrets. The only thing that really should raise a red flag is the fact that Magnus is sitting here in front of Robert Lightwood with his extravagant backdrop of absolutely no experience, not necessarily off his merits, but rather only on the word of Ragnor alone. But with the folder in his hand and the onset of his first mission so close to being a reality, it’s a red flag he chooses to ignore. 

The file isn’t thick, it warps where Magnus’ fingers grasp it and the contents spill out into his open palm, a handful of loose papers with a photo paper-clipped to the corner. The door behind them clicks open with a creak but Magnus doesn’t give attention to it, his interest focused on the notes and details of his life for the next ten hours, give or take a few depending on the competency of his partner. 

It almost feels wrong to be skeptical, especially considering the enormous opportunity he’s being offered just by sitting in this room. He’s young, skilled, and many people would kill for the position he’s in. Many people _have_ killed, and have been killed for this, and will continue to do so until underground criminal activities cease to exist. Suffice to say Magnus has some sort of job security. 

_Valentine Corp._

Magnus tuts to himself internally, thinking back to a news article about the series of dead bodies found with ties leading to former members of the corporation who were laid off and mysteriously contracted fatal illnesses. 

“Alec,” Robert calls from a distance, and Magnus lifts his head at that. Surely— 

Fuck. 

Literally, fucked. 

If Alec is surprised, he’s innately better than Magnus at keeping his face devoid of any emotion. In fact, he appears downright robotic, to the point that Magnus almost swishes a hand in front of him. _Professional_ , he reminds himself. 

_How professional was it when you were on your knees—_

A hand is thrust in front of him, the same long fingers Magnus remembers against his skin just two weeks ago, and it takes him a beat to reach out and connect it with his own in a handshake that lingers just a bit longer than he knows it should. It’s his only hint that Alec isn’t wholly unaffected by his presence. 

The chair beside him scrapes when Alec sits, and Robert motions to the files in Magnus’ hand. 

“Gentleman, the mission is fairly simple. Recover the blueprints from Valentine’s vault and get out as quickly as possible. If one of you is caught, you do not risk the mission. Do what you need to, but those blueprints need to return to us at all costs.” 

It’s a wonder if Alec brought with him the rise in temperature, because if the beading sweat on Magnus’ temples is anything to go by, the room seems to heat a few degrees. It’s possible that the reality that Magnus is _really doing this_ , that he’s doing it with Alec of all people is causing a reaction from him. It’s plausible, probable if he’s being honest, but he chooses to believe that The Clave just happens to have a faulty thermostat. Alec remains unmoving beside him, and when Magnus offers him the small stack of papers of their mission detail, he’s rejected with a wave of a hand. It’s likely that Alec has already been briefed before Magnus even arrived, a fact that sparks annoyance in him. 

_My son_ , Robert had said, nonchalant as though that minor knowledge didn’t shake Magnus’ whole professional decorum, as if he hasn’t put this whole mission in jeopardy with two small words. 

Does Robert even know? 

Judging by the rigid set of Alec’s jaw and the precarious way he’s perched against the edge of his seat in eager disposition to run, probably not. What would Robert say if he knew? 

_It’s probably not best to dwell on the uncertainties of a curiosity._

Magnus gives the papers a final once-over, more of a casual action than a necessity, before he sets them back into the folder and onto the wooden desk before them. Robert smiles cordially, raises a brow as if to ask if he has any questions but Magnus shakes his head no. Any concerns Alec may have had have probably already been discussed, Magnus realizes. 

They all rise in a synchronized formal movement, and Robert reaches over to shake Magnus’ hand once more, fixing him with a stern gaze and heavy words. “I look forward to seeing you once the mission is successful, Mr. Bane. I have high expectations.” 

The words feel ominous, as though Robert is already expecting him to fail, as if Magnus hasn’t been preparing the last three years exactly for this moment. Well, maybe not this _exact_ moment. In an ideal situation it would not be Alec Lightwood standing next to him, the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. The very same Alec Lightwood who had spent a long, intensely wonderful morning in his apartment not that long ago. 

No, in an ideal world he would not know what his partner’s face looks like in the throes of climax, hair strewn and sweaty, chanting his name into the air in a cry of pleasure. 

This is going to be a long night. 

* * *

Alec does his best to stay multiple arms’ lengths away from Magnus, and he’s not sure whether he should feel insulted or grateful. Being in Alec’s presence is – to put it bluntly – fucking distracting. Every shift of his fitted black shirt along the muscles Magnus knows are hidden underneath, every flex of his bicep when he reaches over to grab a new cord, every time he bends over to plug said cord into the wall or whatever object he’s jamming things into, all of it has his nerves alight. Magnus hasn’t been paying attention to anything but Alec, and he’s only one tragic hour into the mission. 

The hotel they were directed to set up their base in is nothing extravagant. 

A tinted cream color paints the walls that are decorated with minimal pictures of plants and vague locations. Matted brown carpet lines the floors, the kind that grates against the soft of your feet when you walk along them barefoot, and the elephant in the room stands out big, bold, and blue in the shape of a bed directly in the middle of the room. 

This is standard, Magnus knows. This is how these missions go, they’re relocated to a non-descript hotel room that’s just within signal of the target without being conspicuous, the Watcher navigating the Spy through the facility and keeping an eye out for any threats ahead of them, thwarting off anyone trying to deny them access. There’s not much that Magnus hasn’t encountered in his training with Cat and Ragnor that has really caused him much of a struggle, nothing that they had thrown at him that distracted him from the target or threw him off-guard. 

They, unsurprisingly, didn’t have the amazing foresight to place Alec Lightwood in Magnus’ way. 

An unfairly attractive Alec Lightwood, with the sleeves of his black shirt stretched so tempting over those biceps that Magnus remembers digging his fingers into, deliciously tight black pants that accentuate the curve of his ass. Alec, who just so happens to be glaring at him with those gorgeous hazel eyes and moving his plump pink lips as though he were saying something. Oh, wait, he is saying something. 

“Huh?” 

“Oh my god,” Alec sighs, exasperated and pinching the bridge of his nose with delicate fingers. “They’ve hired an idiot.” 

“I’m not an idiot,” Magnus snaps, “I just didn’t hear you.” 

Alec shakes his head, sparing one more moment of silence before he turns to Magnus and motions to the still overabundance of wrapped cords scattered along the floor. “Are you going to actually help me set up or are you just going to stand there all night?” 

He’s tempted to be snarky, barely restrains his comment about the fact that he can lead Alec into dead ends and waste his time just for the fun of it, but they still have several hours left together and Magnus would rather his first mission go as smoothly as possible. Job security only lasts as long as you retain employment. 

“Look, we’ve still got all night to deal with each other, let’s just focus.” 

Magnus knows that the words coming from him are ironic, _he’s_ the one getting distracted, _he’s_ the one who’s been standing here twiddling his thumbs and drooling over his bent-over partner. He has no right to be lecturing anyone on getting focused, because it’s only been two seconds since he said the words and he’s already getting lost in the way Alec stares at him, incredulous. 

Alec seems to take his words to heart, though, and with a patiently cool expression that Magnus guesses is from many an annoying partner, he reaches down to grab a cable and toss it to Magnus. 

* * *

11:16pm reads the time in the bottom corner of the laptop they’ve set up. Magnus wonders how dark it is outside the window behind the huge white curtain blocking it, he wonders if the stars are visible from here. Temptation to look out and take in the night below them outside grows stronger as the minutes pass and his mind momentarily detours to the hook up he had scheduled for tonight under the guise of a date, but those thoughts are pushed aside when he hears the shuffle of bullets being carefully filled into the magazine of Alec’s gun. It brings the reality back to the situation, the very possible threat of their lives on Magnus’ hands. 

There’s so much that could go wrong, and as confident and cocky as he pretends to be, sitting here with Alec preparing himself for the worst-case scenario suddenly throws his nerves on edge. 

There’s a twitch in his hand, the small reflex of his fingers working involuntarily against his brain, and he starts to wonder if he’s really truly prepared. _It’s a little too late to back out now_. 

He contemplates calling Ragnor or Catarina, seriously considers seeking out reassurance in their voices telling him he’s got this, that’s he’s not gonna totally fuck up and get the two hottest men on the planet killed. Okay, maybe Ragnor wouldn’t say it in those words exactly, but that’s essentially what he’s looking for. 

Magnus has researched until his eyes went crossed, has spent so much time practicing code sequences he’ll need for the mission that his wrists began to hurt, and he’s spent countless hours in training sequences with Ragnor who would throw every possible wrench in his “mission” to prepare himself. Despite it all, he can’t help the clawing of inadequacy that threatens to knock the breath out of him. This room, this drab hotel room with no defining features besides the fact that everything is white and cream and the bed of all things is _blue_ , feels too small to contain the pent-up energy buzzing inside of him. 

There are bugs in his stomach, he knows that’s not the right expression but it’s not pleasurable enough to be butterflies and it sort of feels like acid threatening to rise up his throat and spill onto the plastic finish on the table in front of him. 

Pressure brings him back, warm and hesitant against his shoulder and he turns to face it, following the strong hand up to the source where Alec is staring down at him with scarcely concealed concern. 

“Are you gonna puke?” 

There’s a moment where Magnus doesn’t say anything, where the nerves are still frying his brain and making him impervious to thinking, but then he realizes what Alec’s said and the nerves bubble over into uncontained laughter, loud and unexpected. Alec’s hand retreats and when Magnus’ laughter settles to a wide smile as he turns to face Alec from the chair he’s seated in at the desk, Alec takes a step back to create a distance he’s more comfortable with. The confused and wary expression on Alec’s face makes Magnus want to laugh again, makes him want to stand up and bury his face in the crook of Alec’s neck and breathe in the scent of a stranger that pulled him apart so expertly only weeks ago. 

It’s inappropriate the way his thoughts continue to stray, continue to throw images of Alec above him, under him, the feel of being surrounded and lifted higher and higher until – 

“Do I need to call for someone else to switch you out?” Alec asks, eyebrow piqued and arms crossed. 

“No,” Magnus hums, twisting the chair idly side to side. A quick glance at the screen behind him lets him know they still have another thirty-five minutes before Alec’s supposed to head out. 

The quiet of the room surrounds the moment, and Magnus takes the opportunity to take in Alec’s appearance now that he’s nearly prepared to leave. From his thick combat boots that Magnus knows holds a knife or two but can’t see, to the long legs and up to the holster strapped around the muscled thigh that Magnus remembers trailing kisses up. There’s no gun in it he notices, not yet, and his torso that houses Magnus’ favorite abs in the world are covered by a thin but sturdy enough bulletproof vest. The leather jacket, filled with hidden weapons and contraptions to aid them in their mission, is shiny and crisp in the low fluorescence of the hotel room finishes off the look, and when the last of his assessment draws him up to Alec’s face, he’s startled to see the hot gaze he’s met with. 

Magnus swallows dryly and wonders if Alec is going to do anything about the slow way Magnus swipes his tongue along his lips, anything other than the flick of his gaze downwards. But he doesn’t, because Alec is more professional than Magnus, Alec has probably done this so many times that loading himself up with weapons and ammunition, with safety precautions and the mindset to kill or be killed, is second nature and not easily tossed aside by lust-filled stares. 

Coffee fills his thoughts, coffee and numbers and flirting with cute strangers who are just finishing work at the same time as Magnus. _Kindred_ , he had said, as if that wasn’t the most fitting thing. If he had known who Alec was then, if he had known his last name, would he have said something back then? Would he have stopped himself from suggestive offers and a morning spent locked in his apartment with Alec? 

“Do you have a name?” Comes the seemingly random question from Alec, who has sat himself on the edge of the bed across from Magnus, arms still crossed and looking as mechanical as ever. For a second, Magnus wonders if he’s heard him wrong, if Alec has already forgotten his name, but then he realizes Alec is asking for his code name. 

“… Um, Bane?” Magnus feels as if he’s in a bad spy movie all of a sudden. He’s never had to think of code names, it wasn’t something that ever came up in his training. _Curse you, Ragnor!_

There’s a quirk in the curve of Alec’s lips, just a hint and he draws in a deep sigh before he speaks. “You don’t need one, but it’s common practice in case we get caught. It’s harder to track you if all they’ve got from comm hacking is your code name.” 

“What’s yours?” Magnus inquires, tilting his head. 

“Archer.” 

“Archer?” Magnus repeats, and Alec nods once. “Why?” 

“Maybe you should be focusing on finding yours, and less about the origins of mine.” 

The words themselves are snappy and blunt, but the way Alec says them lessens the blow. Magnus continues to sway in the chair, dragging his shoes against the scratchy carpet beneath, his eyes darting around the room in hopes of inspiration. Nothing sticks, after minutes of silence and dragged out words in his mind that are starting to jumble together into nonsense, Magnus shrugs. “Just Bane for now,” he decides. 

They have ten more minutes, ten long minutes before Alec is out the door and the security of the hotel room. Comms are being adjusted, and when Magnus leans in close he tries not to notice the way Alec seems to be holding his breath as Magnus adjusts the camera hidden in the collar of his shirt, tries not to think about the way Magnus’ own lungs are burning with the need for oxygen because he’s doing the exact same thing. 

Five minutes. 

Magnus is triple checking the feed, directing Alec to turn this way and that way, speak normally, speak in a whisper, any possible variation of actions he can think of to make sure he captures everything. The nerves are back, low and unsettling in his stomach, and when Alec holsters the gun against his thigh in the final puzzle piece of their preparation, Magnus stands on wobbly knees, too fast to be a casual motion. 

Nothing about this is ordinary though. Two weeks ago he was shameless in his attempts to lure Alec in, coffee in hand and his best smile forward, and it had worked perfectly. They shared an intimate morning together, coming undone and putting each other back together on every surface of Magnus’ apartment, and had Alec not left so quietly while Magnus was asleep, it may have even become a recurrence. 

But here, _now_ in front of him Alec stands, one hand balled into a fist and the other pressed to the gun against his thigh, watching Magnus with words on the tip of his tongue. There’s a beat, then another, hesitant seconds that don’t dare break the reverie of their stare, and then Magnus is watching Alec step out the door with a whispered “Be seeing you, Archer.” 

* * *

Being in the hotel room without Alec does wonders for the anxiety that had been poking at Magnus the past two hours. The nerves are still there, a low hum against the back of his skull. They’re present in the way any new and exciting endeavor is, but controlled and contained, pushed back with the focus on the screen as he watches Alec’s travel to Valentine Corp. 

The building looms in the distance, surrounded by the dark night and illumination of tower lights that surround it. It’s foreboding in all the ways a scheming corporation is, clinical and unwelcoming unless you’re interested in all that underhanded supplying of munitions to several countries has to offer. Underhanded and illegal, if research and production of chemical warfare has anything to say about it. 

Magnus takes the next few minutes to run over the mission in his head once more. 

Get in, make it to the database and steal the blueprints for the new weapon Valentine has been producing. Head down to the vault to steal the hardcopies of said blueprints from the safe, and make it out alive. Easy enough. 

“I can hear you thinking,” comes Alec’s soft, staticky voice through the comms. Magnus smiles, indulges himself as he feels the shiver of Alec’s timbre travel through his head and down his body. They’ve been quiet up until now, Magnus choosing to use the view of the car ride out of Alec’s window to control his breathing and practice key flicks in the air for common strings of code that are more like muscle memory now. Anything to calm himself. 

“Just running over the plan,” he responds, seeing the way Alec shifts in his seat. It shows how much he hates being in one place for too long, how much he dislikes being trapped in a vehicle regardless of the destination or purpose of the drive. 

“Look,” Alec says, “you’re going to do fine. We’re going to make it out of this, and when we do, you’re going to wonder why you were worried in the first place.” Magnus sits in the pause that fills the silence between them, but Alec continues. “There’s a lot resting on this, sure, but there’s always a lot riding on every mission we take. Some are more challenging and time consuming than others, but all of them are potentially fatal, no matter how safe and easy they appear to be on the outside. There’s always a chance we get caught.” 

Magnus swallows, his heart beating erratically in contrast to the calm intonation that pours in through the device in his ear, the gentle assurance of Alec’s words. “I don’t want you to die,” he admits, barely a sound. 

Alec chuckles low and breathy, and Magnus wishes he could see him. “I won’t. I haven’t yet. This isn’t my first mission, Bane.” The sound of his name from Alec’s mouth churns something pleasurable inside of him, but he shoves it away, pushes it down with all the thoughts from earlier where hours beside Alec was both a blessing and a curse, too far away to touch him but too close for innocence at the same time. 

“It’s mine,” Magnus confesses, shifting in his chair as he watches the unsteadiness of Alec’s view when the car goes over a bumpy patch of road. 

“I know.” 

_Oh,_ Magnus thinks. It was just an assumption that Alec wouldn’t have known that small tidbit of information, that there was surely no reason for it. But then again, it’s ignorant to believe that Alec hadn’t already been given a rundown of Magnus’ nonexistent history. It makes sense; it’s preparation. 

“I’m one of the best,” Alec begins again, and Magnus doesn’t stop the rolling of his eyes that happens on instinct. “I’m not being cocky, I’m being honest. Aside from Owl I’m the best chance you have for succeeding your first mission with The Clave. If you fuck up, I can get myself out of a tight spot, and that’s more invaluable than you may realize. If you have a partner who can’t think on their toes, you’re just as dead as them.” 

Magnus tries not to focus on the innuendos that come forth with the mention of Alec getting himself out of tight spots, he latches on instead to the words of affirmation and the knowledge that Magnus doesn’t have to be the perfection he strives for, that if he messes up Alec will still be okay. 

He’ll make sure it won’t come to that, but it helps. 

* * *

Falling into the mission proves to be easier than anticipated, and for that Magnus is eternally grateful. 

“Ten feet ahead, and turn right. There’s a guard stationed at the door, but I can cause a distraction down the hall and give you just enough time to sneak in. Make sure you’re quick, I’ll say when.” 

Alec’s silent huff is the only response Magnus gets, but it’s all he needs. It’s different, _odd_ to be working with someone other than dusty old Ragnor and patient Catarina. Talking to them, ordering them and directing them through trial runs had been easy because they had years of friendship to create the level of communication they have now. Of course their faux missions weren’t without random hiccups, where Ragnor would take a joke seriously, or Magnus would interpret a noise as a word that nobody had said. Through trial and error, they’ve all gone through the awkward blunder missions together to get to their level of comfortable partnership. 

But Alec is different. It’s not perfect, but the way the first few ideas have flown between them feels intrinsic, how Alec seems to understand the words hidden in every pause or breath as Magnus explains their next steps. Perhaps it’s the experience Alec carries with him that assists their conversations, the simple fact that he has been doing this a lot longer than Magnus and needs no explanation for Magnus’ decisions and directions. 

Magnus wants to believe that their history plays into it as well, but he’s pulling at strings with that one. 

He clicks at the mouse to the right of his laptop, and a few quick snaps of his fingers along the keyboard prelude the buzzing of an alarm down the hall opposite of Alec. “Go,” Magnus orders, and he watches through the camera feed on the screen in front of him as the guard slowly walks toward the sound, exactly as planned. The camera that records Alec’s swift movements past the unsuspecting bodies and through the halls of the heavily guarded building is live, but thanks to a small hack in the system Magnus is able to block it out with a loop of the past hour. 

A quick tap of keys on the laptop is all he needs to unlock the door, seconds before Alec twists the handle and pushes it open into the entry of their first objective. Through the video of Alec’s cam he can see the flickering of computer screens and blinking lights of modems connected to hundreds of cables bound together and color-coded. The database, just a square on a floorplan of the building with a name until now, through the multiple camera angles, looks as overwhelming as Magnus imagined it to be in his head. 

Quickly, Alec heads closer to one scaffolding of equipment, his hand lifting to the modems he peruses in search of the one they need, the one that houses information on the weapon identified as MI-02. “Which one is it?” Alec asks. 

“It’s the one with red labels, it should be located on the second shelf down.” 

Magnus scans the video feeds, his eyes flicking quickly from one to the other while Alec works. No possibility for trouble so far, not with the guards oblivious to their intrusion, they’re all clear but any sense of security feels wrong. 

Alec finds the modem in a few short minutes, and with a grunt he shoves a hard drive into the back port before his voice comes low through the comm. “You’re up, Bane.” 

“Perfect,” Magnus says, exhilaration shooting through him as he straightens in his chair and traces calculated fingers along the keyboard in patterns he knows all too well. The database is heavily encrypted, but he’s studied the codes that Valentine’s sources supply and it’s only another couple of minutes before he’s broken through and successfully dragging the files from the server onto the hard drive. “Easy enough. Now we wait.” 

“How long will it take?” 

Magnus hums, swaying slightly in his chair as a smile creeps onto his face. “Got somewhere to be?” 

Alec snorts, and Magnus can see the way he crosses his arms and leans back against the door. It’s almost casual enough to look like he belongs there, like Alec’s really the one in charge of guarding the database, but something in the tense of his shoulders in the low lighting of the room conveys the adrenaline Alec is trying to settle. 

“No,” is the flat answer he receives. Magnus’ grin widens. 

“Really? Not even a hot coffee date, Archer?” 

Magnus swears he can hear the sharp intake of breath and see the way Alec’s eyes dart up to where he thinks the camera might be in a failed attempt to ‘look’ at Magnus. It’s all vague, but Magnus feels hopeful. “Bane,” he warns, but Magnus won’t be stopped. 

“I know a place. Met a hot date there myself a few weeks ago, care to try it out?” 

The cheekiness in his voice gets through to Alec, conveyed in the way he aggressively tugs the glove off and rubs his bare hand to his face in exasperation. “Bane, we’re on a mission.” 

“Live a little, Archer,” Magnus chimes with a taunt in his voice, instigating, inappropriate with the way giddiness creeps up on him. Alec’s right, they’re on a mission and he really can’t afford to be distracted. But that doesn’t stop the excited bounce of his leg and the shift in his chair as he watches Alec, self-indulgent and infelicitous. They’ve got time and the coast is relatively clear at the moment, save for the guard that’s pacing at the end of the hallway in the bottom right video on Magnus’ laptop. 

“I don’t do... dates,” Alec grumbles, sliding his glove back on in jagged, rough movements. 

“On the contrary, dear Archer. I have it on good authority that you do a great _many_ things to them.” 

Alec groans, and Magnus’ attempt to hide his laugh is a complete failure. It suddenly doesn’t feel like a mission, it doesn’t feel like the guards down the hallway are armed and dangerous and could barge in at any moment and swarm Alec. The silence between them on the comms is charged with something other than the hazy static, something unspoken and tempting and completely unbefitting of two people breaking into a million dollar corporation. 

“Stop flirting with me,” Alec rasps out, finally. “We’re on a mission.” 

Magnus knows that he should stop. He knows that he’s pushing buttons that shouldn’t even be acknowledged with the stakes for their lives as high as they are right now. This whole conversation is pointless if Magnus is too busy trying to get back into Alec’s pants to even get him out of the building alive. 

But his confidence is back, however short-lived, the wariness of this being his first mission, uncharted feelings and emotions about the progression of the night and the actions they both take weighing on his conscience are pushed back with the preening thought that Magnus has _got this_ . Trial runs, testing code until his fingers ache, working diligently under the supervision of two of the best... All of it has worked him up to this, up to him and Alec being _successful_. 

This downtime is just a moment, just fifteen quick minutes as the files transfer onto the hard drive, and then he and Alec will be on their way to the safe to acquire the hardcopies before they’re out. Surely there’s an allowance for a little bit of fun? 

“You never said no.” 

“No,” Alec mutters immediately, but Magnus can see the way he shuffles against the wall and does his best to cover the quirk of his lips. Magnus wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been leaning into his computer screen intently, watching with the utmost precision for any hint that Alec was genuinely upset. 

The bugs are back, _butterflies_ this time, because as Alec turns his head away from the camera, Magnus can see the brief flash of teeth bared in a smile and hear the faint exhale of a chuckle. It’s the most he’s gotten all night, and he’s only disappointed that it’s hidden through the screen and not face-to-face. 

A soft chime signals the finish of the transfer, and Alec rights himself before he swiftly takes the hard drive out of the modem. Carefully, he pulls out a small box from his pocket and opens it up to retrieve the magnet inside. Magnus takes this time to scout out the path to their next destination, his eyes traveling along the length of hallways and unmarked rooms on the blueprint as he compares them with the feed of guards that fill them in reality, all while Alec fries the modem with the magnet in his peripheral. 

“The guard from earlier is down the hall, you won’t be unnoticed so I’m going to aim for another distraction but be on alert, it’s not likely to last as long.” A quick succession of clicks as Magnus’ fingers dance across the keyboard produces a loud bang at the end of the hallways that catches the guard’s attention. “Alright, go out to your right five feet and there’s another door that leads to a staircase.” 

Alec follows Magnus’ instructions silently, his steps cautious but hurried as he slips past the door and into the dimly lit staircase. “Down, and then to the right. There are two people in the next area, but they’ve been stationary the past ten minutes, so stay quiet. Go until you get to the white door, and wait.” 

Magnus keeps an eye on Alec, watches the way his body twists around corners as he travels deftly down the stairs and into the hall. It’s almost an art to watch him move like this, to see this soldiered snap of his motions that still find a way to emanate gace, to see the way he’s alert and attuned to his own body and everything around him. It brings back visions of rough fingers gliding across his skin, the rolling of hips that comes with the confidence of someone who’s not afraid of how his body shifts, the steady breathing that is a direct result of regiment and core training to be completely silent in situations of high stress. 

It isn’t until Magnus pulls up the feed of the vault that they hit their first snag. 

“There are two guards up ahead. They’re heavily armed and there’s no way around. I can,” he pauses and skims over the access he’s granted himself to the nearby electrical points, “try to cause a diversion, but something tells me they won’t budge.” 

There’s a motion in Alec’s camera, his arm blocking the view as he pulls out a small object that resembles a grenade. 

“Anesthetic,” Alec rumbles out, quiet enough to be heard by only Magnus. “Tell me when you’re ready.” 

The plan clicks together in Magnus’ head, needing no more explanation from Alec as he steps closer to the entrance that leads towards the vault. With trembling fingers, Magnus pulls up the configuration that will buzz the alarm in the adjoining room, that will no doubt alert others to the area and bring more possibilities of a threat than Alec already faces. It sinks into Magnus’ mind that suddenly this doesn’t seem like the best option. 

It made sense a minute ago, when Alec assuredly waved around the smoke grenade, but now with the guards in view and the guns in their hands, poised and ready to fire, Magnus isn’t so sure. What if it doesn’t work? What if it’s not enough and they don’t even bat an eye like Magnus suspects? What happens to Alec when his diversion causes more harm than good? 

“Archer,” he whispers before he realizes he’s even wanted to say anything. 

“Trust me.” 

There’s a breath, the press of the keyboard, and alarms going off before Alec is moving, sneaky and practiced as he unhinges the grenade and rolls it across the ground to the guards who have turned their heads towards the sound in the next room. Magnus’ heart beats faster and he holds the oxygen in his lungs for just shy of too long because _it’s working_ , the men haven’t noticed the white smoke that fills the air below them until it’s too late, until they’re covering their mouths and coughing in heaves of it as they drop to the ground. 

Alec makes quick work, covering his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his jacket as he treads past them and turns the massive handle to the vault. A grunt and the piercing screech of metal as the door pushes open fills Magnus’ ear through the comms, and he changes the feed to the vault camera so he can watch Alec off to the side as he cycles through the hallway feeds. 

Only a handful of guards head over to the sound, confused and seeming to mutter to each other questioningly as the sound refuses to stop. They’re so close to Alec, just one room away from finding him, and Magnus’ heart pounds incessantly against his chest as one of them opens the door that leads them towards the vault entrance, pulling the gun from the holster behind his jacket and aiming it up. 

“Al – Archer!” 

“I’m not ready,” Alec pinches out, his voice strained as he leans down close to the safe and tries to listen for the click of the lock’s correct combination. 

Magnus’ eyes flitter across the screen before him, and he thinks, and then thinks harder because he needs to _do something_. Alec needs time, Alec needs him to stall and create another diversion, but their options are becoming increasingly limited the longer they allow the curiosity of the guards to run free. 

Hurriedly, he silences the alarm. 

It works. The guard lowers his gun, points it towards the concrete ground below as he cautiously steps back towards the group. Magnus can see them talking, can see the way their lips form quick words, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying without sound. 

What Magnus does hear is the click of the safe opening, and the victorious breath Alec allows himself to expel as he reaches into the safe. There are several items in there, some glint in the light when Alec’s cam shifts with his motions, and Magnus thinks he can make out a few vials of some sort of liquid, but despite the undoubted importance of what’s in there, Alec only grasps the rolled up blueprints that he shoves into the inner pocket of his jacket. 

Magnus is about to comment on the valuables inside of the safe that Alec bypassed, but movement to the camera angle on the right shows him that the same nosey guard from before has noticed the smoke and is stepping back through the door. 

“Move,” Magnus commands, low but firm, and Alec’s out of the room and bolting past the incapacitated bodies on the floor in just a few seconds, quick enough that the guard moves into the room without either of them making contact. 

There’s a shuffle in his ears, and then the gentle in and out of Alec steadying his breathing that barely comes through Magnus’ comm. Once he’s sure that the men won’t be following Alec, he filters through feeds until he finds Alec in the staircase, leaning with his back against the wall and his eyes closed and light glinting off his teeth in the biggest grin he’s seen all day on him. 

“Why are you smiling?” 

“Adrenaline,” is all Alec says, and Magnus takes the brief interlude of safety to admire him through the visuals of the camera angle. 

Dark hair swoops elegantly to the side, styled with wayward strands that stick out at odd angles from the rush of running around, and it’s only when Magnus traces his eyes down along Alec’s face and meets his eyes that he realizes Alec has turned his head up to face the camera above. He becomes intimately aware of the speed of his heart, the gentle pressure that tugs at his chest when Alec smiles at him through the camera, the lazy way his eyes blink up as if he can see straight through it to Magnus himself. 

“Stop flirting with me,” he manages to murmur, a mimic of Alec’s earlier words. He doesn’t miss the way Alec’s smile turns crooked, or the way it pulls something low in his stomach, and he especially doesn’t miss the way his tongue pokes out to run across his lips before Alec finally looks away. 

“I didn’t realize smiling was a crime.” 

The view of guards in almost every hallway fills Magnus’ screen, and he tries to regain focus on the mission despite the thoroughly adamant way Alec continues to look handsome in every possible angle. “It is when you do it,” he whispers, quiet enough that if Alec’s not listening he may not hear it. The low chuckle lets him know otherwise. 

Ascending up the stairs, Alec takes slow steps as he awaits Magnus’ instructions in a patient presence he seems to have perfected, and it’s only after a few minutes of clicking on the keyboard and mouse that Magnus curses. 

“Shit, they’ve upped the security. Every hallway is blocked, and I think we’ve used up our last token of luck with those alarm tricks. Our best bet might just be to go up and scale down the building.” 

Alec nods, a motion Magnus barely catches, and he swallows when he catches the shine of the gun that’s gripped firmly in Alec’s hand as he continues to rise slowly up the stairs. 

Every floor brings more suspense for Magnus as he continues to switch through cameras, continuing to scour the layout of the building in any attempt to bring forth a new, safer way out for them. “Wait,” he calls out, and Alec stills immediately, pressing his back against the wall. 

“These layouts aren’t accurate.” 

“That’s not what I want to hear right now, Bane.” 

Magnus sighs, quickly pulling up folders and files on the laptop, searching through the layout history of the building. A noise brings his attention back to the cameras, where a guard has opened the door into the stairwell. 

Time seems to move slowly for Magnus, it moves in the gradual motion of Alec’s leg as he lifts it in the air and kicks his heavy combat boot against the edge of the door until it slams into the guard in between. A wheezing fills his throat, a wet and startled gasp, but his eyes never leave Alec. Not even when he’s pulling the guy through the door and watching as he thrusts the handle of his gun to the junction of the man’s spine where it meets the back of his head. And when Alec straddles the man’s body as it lies on the floor and wraps his arm around the bulky neck and _pulls_ , Magnus watches that too. 

“ _Bane_ ,” Alec growls, fuzzy with static through the comm in his ear. “Hurry the fuck up.” 

Those words set Magnus back into motion, back into the files he still has to search and decrypt. But his fingers are trembling now, unwilling to do anything with the direction of his brain that signals them to _move_. He shouldn’t be this startled, he’s seen people die before, he knew coming into this that it was a likely probability that someone was going to die, that he was going to witness it, maybe even be the cause of it. 

But seeing Alec – 

Magnus wasn’t watching. 

Magnus hadn’t seen the man coming, it was a casualty that wasn’t necessary, and Alec had been endangered because Magnus wasn’t prepared. With the shake of his head he sets his fingers down onto the keyboard, forcing his body to work on muscle memory alone until he can process later. It will be morning, sunlight splayed across his walls, but all he’ll be thinking of is how he almost got Alec killed. 

_Stop it,_ Magnus berates himself. He’s better than this, stronger than the self-deprecation his stressed mind is trying to drag him down into. He’s got this. He’s Magnus Bane. 

With a roll of his neck, Magnus steadies in a deep, measured breath and clacks at the keyboard of the laptop in front of him, brushing across the letters with repetitive precision. The seconds drag on, too long in the unexpected, charged with the electric undercurrent of being unprepared and caught out. Finally, he finds what he’s searching for. It’s highly encrypted but Magnus knows this code, he’s seen this loop and he knows how to break it. A blueprint opens on the upper right corner of the screen, small and nearly identical to the one he previously had open but Magnus’ eyes hone in on what he’s looking for. 

“The hallway is only protected by one guard now, he was just patrolling but he’s alerted and on his way,” he says to Alec, who is dragging the body to the corner of the stairwell behind the door. “It also looks like the most recent layout was a cover up. There’s not much of a change, but there are several exits that are available to us now, we don’t need to go up unless you want to.” 

“Up is not preferable. Good work.” 

“They’re smart, but I’m smarter,” Magnus sets his back straighter, preens under the compliment and feels the snap of his vertebrae as he puffs his chest in feigned cockiness. It doesn’t come close to what he really feels inside, the tumultuous range of guilt, anxiety and doubt, but there’s a reason the saying goes ‘fake it til you make it.’ 

“If you spent less time stroking your ego and more time focusing, I’d already be out of here.” Alec speaks through gritted teeth, low enough to be unrecognizable to anyone else, but the comm in his ear catches the words and relays them through to Magnus’ with utter clarity. Magnus tries not to let his mind trip over Alec’s comment of still being inside the building, tries not to let himself be bogged down with culpability at the fact that he’s the reason it’s taking so long. Instead, he chooses to resort to old tactics, old habits of smothering self-doubt with flirting and charisma. 

“If you want to talk about stroking, I have a few thoughts that come to mind,” Magnus lilts, and his lips quirk into a satisfied smile when he hears the huff filter through. There’s an art to working up Alec Lightwood he’s noticed, and Magnus is nothing if not an artist. 

“Bane,” Alec repeats, and it’s not the tone of his voice or the indent of a frown on his brow that sobers Magnus up, it’s the gunshot that rings out in his ear. 

The guard has snuck his way towards them, attempted to shoot Alec through the window of the door and missed, a fatal mistake for him as Alec throws open the door and slams the hilt of his gun into the man’s nose. A strangled cry of pain, and then a soft blunt noise that can only be the sound of a bullet going through the silencer on Alec’s gun comes through the comms next. Magnus watches it, eyes wide with perfect vision as he sees the lifeless body fall to the ground through the camera on Alec’s collar. 

Another mistake, Magnus. Get it together. 

Two clicks and he’s got a view of the camera from around the corner where three surly men are sneaking through the intersecting hallway, heading towards Alec with curious steps. “Three to your left, five-foot-eleven, armed with pistols and ready.” 

There’s only a grunt before he sees Alec crouching down on the screen of his laptop, and he crosses the short distance to the other side of the hallway. The computer whirs, pushes air through the fan in the only noise that fills the silence of the room. Magnus' eyes are constantly moving, searching through the other feeds for any oncoming presence, but he always keeps Alec in his peripheral. 

“When we make it out,” he begins, his voice low and soft regardless of the fact that nobody but Alec can hear him, “Let me take you out for a drink.” Alec doesn’t comment on the inclusion of ‘ _we,’_ but there are more pressing matters at hand as the first man rushes around the corner of Alec’s hall. 

A gunshot rings out through the comm, piercing and thunderous, louder than the silent blip Magnus knows to be Alec’s. “If you get me out of here then maybe I’ll consider working with you again.” Alec breathes, heavy and ragged with his back pressed to the wall and his gun firm in his grip. 

“Pass the hallway that they’re in and to the right, there will be a red door a few yards down that leads outside. You’ll have to jump down a few feet, but it’s nothing you can’t handle. And I’m flattered you would consider me for your next mission, Archer.” Magnus’ eyes are flickering across the screen, triple-checking the blueprints and matching them to the layout on the cameras, but his eyes are always drawn to focus on Alec, to make out the subtle distinctions in his face at any given moment. He doesn’t miss the small tip of his lips in an almost smile, or the way it changes immediately to a frown. 

“I swear to God, Bane,” Alec warns, side-stepping closer to the corner of the hallway where the body lays on the floor. 

“You’d be out of here already if you weren’t stalling just so you could flirt with me.” 

That comment seems to spark action in Alec, and Magnus watches as he pushes himself off of the wall to set two swift shots down the entrance. One of the men goes down with a yell, the gun in his hands clattering against the concrete of the floor, and the other falls silently with the only sound of his presence being the shuffle of his windbreaker as he descends. Magnus hears it all, hears the light footsteps as Alec walks around their bodies, hears the aggressive breaths that come through the comm as Alec follows his earlier direction unthreatened. 

Magnus watches Alec twist the handle of the door that leads to his freedom and the heavy blow of his foot against it when he realizes it’s locked with a manual key and not an electric one. 

The camera outside offers a grainy view, not clear enough to see any distinctive features that would differentiate Alec to any of the random guards in the building. Alec takes the steps outside the door two at a time, rushing down until he reaches the only point they lead to, another door that leads back inside but a floor lower. Magnus can see the way he peers over the banister of the stairs, metal and concrete and dirty from the weather, can see the long drop to the ground that twists Magnus’ stomach with vertigo. 

Careful and poised, Alec balances himself on it and jumps. 

The comm catches the wind as it rushes against the mic and ruffles Alec’s shirt, picks up the harsh expulsion of breath as Alec hits the ground in as graceful a manner as Magnus has seen anyone drop from that high up. It’s almost not noticeable the way Alec favors one leg over the other as he sprints back to where he left the car, and when he leans against it with deep, ragged breaths, Magnus tries not to notice the way his own heart fills with pride at the soft, “Good job, Bane.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The trip back is relatively quiet, and for the first ten minutes Magnus isn’t even sure if he’s supposed to stay on comms with Alec, but he’s too embarrassed to ask. There’s no instruction manual for this sort of thing, nothing to explain to him proper mission etiquette for before and after. It’s almost more nerve-wracking than the mission itself, although a lot less bloody and life-threatening. 

Magnus thinks of the guards that died tonight, nameless faces whose lives were taken without more than a moment's thought, all because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

  
Surely it’s bad form to be sympathizing with the enemy. 

But they aren’t enemies, there are no enemies on this mission, only the opposition that threatens their success. Magnus knows Alec, knows enough at least to believe he’s not a bad guy, that killing people without a second thought isn’t something that he likes to indulge in in his spare time, or enjoys resorting to. It’s his job. 

He also knows what little he’s gathered on Valentine Corp through the news and media outlets, steeped in scandal and bad karma, a mass production company of weapons for specific branches of the government. Yes, the corporation’s holistic view on the morality of weapons and what should and shouldn’t be created is obviously skewed greatly towards wrong, but the people they hire who come for a paycheck, who are just doing their job and trying to make a living… Do they really deserve this?

“You don’t have to stay on the comms, you know,” comes the crackly voice in Magnus’ ear, anchoring him back to the hotel room he occupies in solitude. 

Heat creeps slowly across his cheeks, and he’s thankful Alec isn’t there to see it. “I wouldn’t want you to get lonely,” Magnus replies, tossing in the sultry tone to his next words, “I know you missed your hot date tonight.”

Alec huffs a laugh, something Magnus wouldn’t have even considered more than a breath if they hadn’t spent the past six hours in each other’s company. A small smile falls upon his face as he tugs the cord out of the back of the computer and makes slow work of neatly wrapping it back into a bundle. The equipment takes less time to put away than it takes to put together, but at the rate he’s going he wonders if he’ll even be halfway done by the time Alec gets back. 

Sitting here with Alec in his ears, he can imagine another time, another place where they aren’t strangers. A time where maybe Alec is more than the guy Magnus has been hired to navigate on a one-time mission. Alec Lightwood, not just a one-night stand turned surprise partner in other things. At least in another world the twist of Magnus’ stomach when Alec rumbles a low tune as he drives back to the hotel wouldn’t seem so wrong. 

If this is the last time he’s going to see Alec, then maybe procuring his number before the morning comes isn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe he and Alec could be something more than a happenstance, or a faulty coincidence. Maybe it would be better if they didn’t leave their one-time encounters up to fate. 

Fate, the only thing that brings them together, the same fate that brought the blurry face of the guards through the feed in his video to their untimely death.

“Do you ever feel bad afterwards?” 

Magnus doesn’t realize he’s said the words until he feels the pumping of blood in his veins, raw and harsh and waiting for an answer from Alec. But there’s no response immediately, nothing but a quiet resigned sigh.

“You can’t think like that, Bane,” Alec begins, his voice gentler than Magnus has heard from him all night. “Those kinds of thoughts don’t belong in a battlefield. You think with your instincts, kill or be killed. If you stop and worry about whether this person has a kid waiting at home, or if that person is a promising engineer, then you’re never going to make it out. Because I can guarantee you that when they look at you, they aren’t thinking anything other than killing the target. And that’s how it has to be.”

The breath in Magnus’ throat feels ragged, painful when it finally releases with the last of Alec’s words. He’s right, he knows he is, but the reality of the way it churns Magnus’ heart is hard to accept. 

Alec’s next words seem hesitant, as if broaching the subject were a coerced action rather than a chosen one. “You did good tonight, really good for your first time.” There’s a pause and Magnus can practically hear how loud Alec’s thinking is through the buzz of the comm. “It takes more than being really good to stick to this line of work, and if seeing people die is a challenge for you then maybe this should be your only mission.”

The words sting, and Magnus assumes Alec doesn’t mean for them to with the slow way they tumble from his lips. Maybe Alec’s right, hours and hours of training, so much preparation for this moment, finally he gets his chance… and the sight of people armed with weapons falling to the ground listless is giving him doubts. It’s a bit funny, as many times as Ragnor had sat in front of him and regaled him with tales of dangerous missions planting evidence in rivalry companies, as many times as he had mentioned the bloodshed, glossed over but there nonetheless, Magnus had taken it as just another fact of life.

It’s different when you’re watching the light of someone’s soul filter out of their eyes into unseen blankness. 

“Bane,” Alec’s call of his name slips through the cracks of his thoughts, quiet and careful. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“How did you get involved in all this?” It’s not exactly what’s on his mind, but he doesn’t want to drag the mood further with insecurity, doubt, and morbid thoughts and he’s genuinely curious.

Magnus wonders if the fact that Alec can’t see him makes him bolder, if the fact that he can speak freely without the embarrassment of eye contact makes the words spill out easier. It must, because Alec only takes a beat or two before he’s speaking again, quicker than before.

“It’s sort of a family business, you could say, we’ve always been in charge of The Clave. My father’s involved with the logistics of it all, and my mother deals with all the politics. I… grew up in this. I was training since I could walk, and I was taught to shoot a gun before most kids really should, I suppose. It wasn’t a choice for me, but it’s all I’ve known, and I’m good at it. I have a very niche set of skills that I don’t think would do much good in a grocery store or an operating room”

“You’ve never wanted to do anything else?”

Alec pauses, before repeating, “I’m good at what I do.”

There is temptation in the form of words that don’t dare come forth, words that want to tell Alec about the _great number of other things_ Magnus knows he’s good at, but the somber mood that sits over the comms pushes them back down. Alec is more than just a stranger in his bed now, more than a deep voice in his ear and a handsome face on his computer screen. “And when you’re not on a mission, are you good at that too?”

“I like to think so,” Alec responds after only a moment’s hesitation. “I work with the younger trainees. I teach them how to fight, how to defend themselves, how to survive.”

The sound of the cords in his hand as they shift against each other when he pulls on them is louder than the steady breath in his ear, and he wonders if Alec is going to continue. Magnus knows how he wants to respond, he knows the indignant questions and concerns that float in the silence between them. How young are these trainees? How young is too young to know how to yield a weapon? How young is too young to learn how to kill?

There are a multitude of morally ambiguous answers that Alec can offer him, but this whole situation is already heavily saturated in indiscreet conversation and Magnus isn’t sure he could honestly handle any more of it tonight. So instead, he asks, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do actually.”

Another piece snaps into place on the puzzle that is Alec Lightwood in his head. Coffee shop frequenter, Spy, Trainer, and now: good with kids.

It’s endearing to think of his companion, the same man with the precision of a robot when it comes to shooting guns and dodging bullets, would like working with those younger than him.

Magnus loses himself in his thoughts for a hefty chunk of time, his hands working on autopilot with the steady silence of the comms. The comfort that Alec is still there helps to ease his anxious energy, but it doesn’t quite settle it because in no time at all, Alec will be standing in front of him, and he’s not sure what to make of it. 

He’s not sure if he’ll be able to contain the fluttering of his heart as it pulses a rapid beat that he’s acutely aware of in all of his pressure points. He’s not sure if just the sight of Alec, safe and alive and close enough to touch, is going to push him into questionable circumstances that just the thought of are already beginning to wane on his resolve to stay professional. Whatever happens, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready and the opportunity comes sooner than he’s prepared for with the dull thud of the car door shutting through the comms bringing him back to the present.

“I’m coming,” Alec calls gently, and Magnus is thrown for a moment at the laugh that tries to claw its way out of his throat, because Alec must be setting that up on purpose, right? Only, no, Alec doesn’t mean it that way, because the heaves of his breathing give no indication of the humor Magnus would expect.

No, they give all the indication of someone rushing up the stairs to the floor of the hotel room instead of taking the elevator, someone taking the stairs rapidly in hopes of exhausting the nerves and tension that’s surely coiled tight.

It’s that knowledge that begins to sweat Magnus’ palms, that make his eyes look anywhere but at the door in dreamy anticipation as he waits for Alec’s arrival. And when it comes, when Alec makes it back to the hotel room that they’ve set up their makeshift base in, he sees vividly the way those hazel eyes rake over him before they flicker to the bed, and back again. 

It’s a fleeting thought to push Alec down, to strip him of all his gear and weapons and pull the tension out of him with every twist of his hands. But Alec is quicker than the fantasy in Magnus’ mind, and the reality he receives is a firm nod and a “Good job, Bane,” before Alec grabs the rest of his belongings and steps out of the room.

* * *

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

* * *

Magnus does his best to focus on his work, to remember that stringing together code, doing side gigs to decrypt inane information that honestly didn’t need to be so heavily locked up in the first place, and hard-wiring people’s computers can actually be _fun_. 

Work is great. Work is good. Work is... _necessary._

It’s a mantra he has to follow constantly when his mind begins to wander, when someone will come in with spilled coffee on their laptop, lamenting about the thousands of pictures they’ll lose, or crazy conspiracy theories about the government that are suddenly far more interesting now than they were a week ago. It’s times like those that Magnus’ thoughts trail to early morning trips for his caffeine fix, trail further to fervent hands and strong lips against his and the sound of a deep voice in his ear taking orders and affecting his body in ways he never expected to encounter.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t make a return visit to the coffee shop after his mission with Alec.

It would also tuck neatly into that lie if he said his heart didn’t speed up with every greeting the barista threw out behind him as he waited for his coffee, waited with bated breath for rough calloused fingers to brush along his elbow, for Alec to touch him lightly despite the strength he possesses, only for his heart to plummet with harsh disappointment because not once had it ever been Alec who walked in.

It isn’t healthy, and he knows it. Fuck, he deserves more than this. He’s too good for pining over a mysterious lover, too good for the daydreams that hover in the recesses of his mind when he loses focus throughout the day.

It doesn’t help that every phone call Ragnor receives sets him on edge and alights inside of him the flicker of hope that it’s Robert Lightwood with another mission for him. 

Catarina claims he’s jumpy all the time now, and her maternal instinct kicks in with a press of her palm to his forehead as she wonders aloud whether he’s catching a cold. It transforms into something more meaningful when Magnus shoos her away with warm cheeks and a flustered glare, claiming he’s fine. Sometimes she looks over at him and watches him like he’s lost a part of his humanity in that mission, like he’s irreparably changed.

And as much as he’d rather brush it under the rug and ignore it, he has changed. But his fretting right now is far more hormonal than that, and if she wasn’t his best friend he’d let her believe it.

“Cat, _really_ ,” he hisses as he swivels his chair closer to hers. “It’s not that, I swear. I just,” he pauses. “My partner was kinda-sorta my _partner_ before the mission.”

The stare he receives, blank and unregistering of the words he’s laid out in front of her, do nothing to curve the edge and he can’t blame her for not understanding because he’s being incredibly fucking vague about it all.

“What I mean is—look, do you remember when I told you about tall, dark and handsome from the coffee shop?”

“The one you said was really good at—”

“Yes!” He interrupts hastily, shifting a glance over towards where Ragnor is pacing about in his office, grumbling into a file folder of what Magnus assumes to be secret spy stuff. Quieter, he explains, “Guess who showed up as my mission partner in the middle of my debriefing?”

Catarina gasps and Magnus is quick to shush her again with shifty eyes that flit between her and Ragnor a few feet away. 

“Did he say anything? Did something happen?” A grin spreads across her lips, slow and insinuating. “Did you two _get it on_ in the hotel?”

Under different circumstances he’d probably laugh and make some quip about having bugged the room so she could see for herself, but he remembers the barely concealed self-restraint Alec had shown before walking away and the way it clenched something tight and twisted in his stomach. “No, nothing more than a bit of flirting.”

Though there are no more words to add to that statement, it somehow doesn’t feel final. 

Catarina hums. “But you want there to be more,” she guesses.

Is it so bad that he does?

The implications of that thought gnaw at him, bring about the creeping doubt and uncertainty into the crevices of his mind where there never has been before. Magnus likes casual, he likes one-night stands. He likes having a little fun whenever with whomever. He doesn’t want to ever feel trapped or tied down.

But surely spending hours with someone stuck in your ear, with the sight of them risking their lives and enacting every order and command you direct to them, changes you. What does Magnus really even know about Alec Lightwood besides the sight of him sprawled across his bed with the morning sun glowing across pale skin? What more besides the agility and precision with which he can take down armed opponents, regardless of the gaping disadvantage he holds? What other than the scarcely hidden fire behind his eyes that threatens to escape with the step closer that neither of them dared to take?

As much as he wants to say that his knowledge of Alec doesn’t go far past the physical, he knows it’s not true. He knows about Alec’s desire to make sure these kids brought to be raised in The Clave know how to survive. That they can defend themselves against the horrors of the militia and warfare despite the very reality that they, too, will someday be a part of it in a baffling revelation. He knows the underlying burden hidden in every word Alec had said on his way back to the hotel, how his life isn’t his own, and there’s little he can do to change it.

Magnus groans then, burying his face in the palms of his hands in an attempt to calm his racing mind. “I don’t know, Cat,” he admits, dejectedly. “I was going to ask for his number, but it just didn’t seem right.”

Silence hits heavy, littered with the beeping of computer modems and the rush of computer fans blowing dust into the air, but Catarina’s pity is loud enough to hear above it all. She doesn’t offer him much more than the familiar gesture of comfort that her palm against his back brings, but he can hear the words she wants to say. _It’s for the best._

He wonders if everybody responds this way to their first mission, tainted with guilt and longing and residual imagery that only seems to intensify when they close their eyes. Perhaps they do, or perhaps Alec Lightwood changes things, skews the tables greatly in his favor as he has for Magnus.

What of his partner?

Alec said he was one of the best, and that must mean he’s supplied with an equally skilled companion. 

It’s not without the brief twinge of jealousy that thoughts of what Alec’s regular partner must be like, spring to mind. The level of communication, the practiced ease with which they prep each other during the hours of setup in the hotel room, the gap between having an experienced Watcher and what that must be like for Alec. 

No, thoughts like that will do him no good. Thoughts of other people navigating Alec provoke begrudging feelings for the unknown, and Magnus won’t allow himself to wallow in his self-pity any longer today. In the corner of his eye, Ragnor snaps the folder shut and tosses it back onto his desk, taking with it the deprecation Magnus cuts the cord on, and bringing forth concerned curiosity. Whatever information that file holds, it’s clearly not good.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  
  


On Wednesday, he spends a long, grueling night with Ragnor, running through more in-depth training once the shop closes late in the evening. Finally, he’s allotted the time for some answers and discovers what he had been wondering about but never had the authority to call on.

Ragnor works with a man named Aldertree during most of his missions, skilled in close combat fighting and often heavily layered with distraction techniques like gases and bombs. It makes Ragnor’s job harder when they have to retrieve contraband or product, so the missions they take on fall significantly into the category of deception, and Aldertree fits himself with charisma and charm perfectly into situations and scenarios like a chameleon. From his spot in the hotel, Ragnor gathers the intel they need and has on hand the files of everyone Aldertree interacts with to nudge him along the right path to the people he’s searching to plant ideas into. 

They’re good at it, Ragnor confesses. But sometimes Aldertree is almost too good, and the information that passes between them through the privacy of their comms gets twisted on it’s way towards the person they’re meant for. So many times Ragnor had believed they’d been compromised, that they had fucked up somewhere along the way, and every time he had been proven wrong by the quick tongue and sharp thinking of his partner. 

Reassurance for the time spent on comms comes in the form of Ragnor insisting that he has been placed with partners who are chatty after missions, who need to settle the adrenaline and nerves by rehashing the mission and seeking out mistakes or faults that could have been prevented. For some partners who have clashed with him, it serves as a way to offer criticism if they’re both receptive.

But when Magnus inquires about the time spent together in the hotel before the mission starts, Ragnor scrunches his nose and shudders. “Heavens, you have to spend hours together in each others’ ears as it is, so time spent in the hotel is kept to a minimum. It makes things easier,” he says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Maybe it should be. Maybe it is. It’s no doubt a common practice because he’s sure that these partners Ragnor had kept things professional, they likely hadn’t slept with each other beforehand.

Somehow, he finds himself asking tentatively, “Has anything ever developed between a partnership?”

Ragnor scoffs. “Magnus, dear, this life isn’t a romantic movie. It’s a mission, and the consequences of failure almost always end in death.” After a beat, he adds: “If you’re lucky.” The tone and implication of Ragnor’s words send an embarrassed nod through him, as he deems the conversation over. But as Ragnor takes in the twist of Magnus’ lips and the furrow of his brow, his features soften into something unreadable that Magnus has never witnessed on him until now. “Of course, that’s not without its exceptions.”

At that, Magnus lifts a curious brow. 

“It’s highly frowned upon, of course.”

“Of course,” Magnus parrots, urging him on with scarcely hidden interest.

“I have seen in my time a romance or two stem from a partnership. The heart wants what the heart wants, and who am I to judge? But those partnerships are dissolved immediately, because it impairs you when you’re in love with the person in your ear, it makes you a liability. The stronger the personal bond becomes, the weaker the professional one, and when you’re watching the person you love fall to the floor with a bullet in their head, you need to be able to make the call, to be able to fulfill the mission or abandon it properly without the fog of loss clouding your judgement.”

The words are thrown between them in an air of nonchalance as if it were a friendly chat about the weather, but behind it, curling around its meaning, lies bitterness and regret.

Magnus swallows, thick and heavy like the ensuing thoughts that trudge through his mind. What started as a hopeful admission became quickly shadowed with a warning that Ragnor did nothing to try and hide. So all Magnus can do is nod, because there’s a time and a place for his words, but right now doesn’t seem to be one of them. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It takes a hefty amount of self-control not to pitch a tent outside the coffee shop that week. 

Magnus has already visited once, and the mortification of having counted each and every clench of his stomach as it synced up to the bell that dinged every time the door opened was almost enough to send him running back home to never return. But on Saturday morning he can’t help the pep in his step from the barely subdued buzz of energy he feels as he steps through the door, because _this feels right_. If Alec should appear on any of these days, it’s today.

So he stands close to the counter and orders his drink, a simple coffee with cream and a swirl of caramel, and waits with the light tap of his fingers on the counter for the bell on the door to jingle.

The sun is barely rising through the window outside, dawning across the smattering of clouds that smother the sky with faded pastels of orange, pink and blue. It’s so similar to that day three weeks ago, similar in the way he remembers how Alec looked against the backdrop of it all, coffee in hand and a gentle blush on his cheeks as he called out to him.

“Magnus,” he hears, though it’s not the voice in his memory.

_It’s a nice name_.

His drink comes all too quick, and with it the rationale to mosey around in the shop and wait for someone that may never come.

Just a little bit longer. 

It isn’t often that he takes the time to sit and savor the heat of his coffee, to feel the warm tingle of it on his lips and the way it soothes the harsh scratch of his throat from hours of talking through a pseudo comm with Ragnor. Just today, he’ll enjoy the emergence of heat from the sun as it peeks higher into the sky and lightens the morning with it’s brightness, bringing with it the rise of early birds who seem to have their lives together far more than Magnus believes he ever will. 

He waits for an inevitability, for one of two possibilities to occur. The first one, where Alec shows up just in the nick of time as Magnus tosses his empty cup in the trash on his way out of the shop is the one he clings to, the one he sets his heart on and gets lost in the imagination of.

The second one is a lot more practical, the one he prefers not to expect but knows he should anticipate, where Magnus stands with a hope that falls dispirited across his shoulders as he pushes his way out of the shop and walks back home alone.

And now, thirty minutes later as he takes his steps across the dirty sidewalk, the morning seems to dim drastically in the shadows that spread through the city, and the chirp of the birds strike annoyance in his head with their shrill, piercing tweets. It’s only when he’s jamming his keys into the deadbolt of his apartment and twisting rough that he finally expels the forlorn sigh he had been saving for just this moment and he wonders if his neighbor can hear him next door, if they can discern in the chipper morning the sound of someone who’s given up.

Memories of Alec pushing him up against his door long to flood his mind, batter at the gates of his determination to hold them back until he almost caves. Some of them slip through anyways, unwillingly flash in front of him like a projection of home videos with Alec as the star. Alec with swift fingers and the low tremble of his voice against Magnus’ throat, Alec above him with a hand on his cheek, watching him like he’s shattered his world in the most intimate ways.

Alec, standing in front of him with the black bulky cut of his outfit and the leather jacket stretched across his arms, with words on his lips that don’t have the courage to come to life just yet.

Magnus suppresses it all, fights it back down and locks it away deep down in the safety of his heart where it hurts less.

Reality is a fickle bitch. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Come Monday evening, the stress that surrounds Ragnor seems to hit a peak.

There is a fidget in his hands when he sits beside Magnus and Catarina to solder together two cords that have been ripped off but are still viable onto an old, worn motherboard. The longer the night goes on, the more apparent it becomes that the uncharacteristic fidgeting has grown into a full on tremor. So Catarina snags the tools from within his grasp and sets them on the counter with a pointed look that produces an elaborate sigh from Ragnor, ragged and defeated and tugging at the sympathy in Magnus’ heart for his best friend. 

Sitting here beside them and rubbing the resulting lack of sleep from his eyes, Ragnor looks older than his age.

“Ragnor,” Catarina murmurs, one hand resting against his shoulder. “You can tell us what’s bothering you.”

A flicker of something crosses his face, gone almost the same instant it arrives. There’s something hidden but painfully aware behind those glassy eyes, something that desperately wants to be expressed, but Ragnor remains stubborn. It’s only seconds that pass by before he pulls himself back, shrouds his emotions into the aloof Ragnor they know so well.

“You don’t have to hide things from us, you know we’ll understand.”

Magnus’ words don’t quite hold the same soothing lull that Catarina’s do, they don’t have the same weight of intention to cure his aches and worries, because where Catarina holds a healing presence, Magnus holds a curious one.

“Thank you, my dear friends,” Ragnor says at last. The smile he presents is tight, closed off and feigned, but it’s what he gives and they don’t ask for more. “This is just something I need to sort out for myself.”

With a weary grunt, Ragnor lifts himself from his chair and retires to his office for the night, where the distinct click of the lock on his door and the snap of the window screen drawing shut effectively keep them out.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Tuesday and Wednesday pass just as predictable and uninteresting as they always have, and Magnus begins to wonder if he’s ever going to be called back for another mission. 

The tech shop, as lively and exciting as it can be, does nothing to invigorate or give him the same sense of purpose. The people he interacts with on a daily basis aside from his coworkers are vapid, shallow customers, and though every day brings with it new challenges, it’s nothing compared to the excitement a mission brings. Well, he guesses at least, since technically he’s only been on one mission and that’s hardly a generous pool to base his assumptions on. Despite all the guilt he had harbored after his mission with Alec, all the long nights spent wondering about the people that had died on account of him, the thrill of being a Watcher had still been an incredible rush.

Now, his biggest thrill is when someone has a particularly malicious virus on their computer, because at least deconstructing and breaking apart code actually uses some of his brain function. 

Sighing, he pivots in his seat and turns to observe Catarina in place of getting some easy work done, taking in the furrowed crease along her brow and the glasses that sit perched on her nose as she stares at the screen of her computer. It’s not for this job she peruses files, but research for the mission he knows she has scheduled in a few days time. 

Envy digs in, swift and striking, and he turns to Ragnor’s office instead. It’s empty, devoid of the usual rain cloud that Ragnor Fell carries with him as it has been for the past two days. Ever since he had stormed out and claimed he couldn’t focus on his mission details with the distraction of customers dithering about. It was unusual then and remains so now, as Ragnor often claimed that the shop was more of a safehouse for him than his actual home. But acting odd had been Ragnor’s MO lately, and he had shrugged off Magnus’ questions when he followed him out to his car and denied the offered company with a gruff excuse and wave of his hand. So Magnus hadn’t done much more after that, nothing besides shooting him a reassuring text that still remains unread.

But still… the quiet atmosphere that hangs over the shop today feels unsettling. It doesn’t feel the same as the previous times Ragnor has left it to them in the past. Magnus and Cat have proven time and time again that they’re capable of running things alone on instances where Ragnor’s missions involve a few days out of town, or when Ragnor just needs a break to unwind after a particularly intense navigation. They know Ragnor trusts them implicitly in all the years they’ve worked together, but he almost always gives them a heads up, never just leaves them to wonder and guess and wait for him to get back. 

This feels like they’re missing something crucial, like things have been turned upside down and they’re in some sort of variation of their world where Ragnor skips out of town without warning and shirks his responsibilities. And there is still no way for them to gather anymore insight onto what’s going on in Ragnor’s head, no way for either of them to truly understand, because Ragnor has blocked and shut them out as he always does, has pulled the blinds over the window of his suffering and chosen to face it alone.

It’s not without a sharp gasp that Magnus turns to face the entrance to the shop as it swings open with a loud bang, bringing with it the sight of a disheveled, but still as handsome as ever, Alec Lightwood.

“Alec,” he hears himself saying in the rush of breath that leaves his body, propelling himself forward with a great force to stand up from his rickety seat. 

Is he dreaming? Is Alec really here? 

The dingy tech shop that surrounds him looks surreal against the gloriousness of his features, stony and serious and flipping Magnus’ stomach in the best ways. He remembers this, bugs and butterflies. Not that he’d forgotten, but seeing Alec in front of him again makes him feel like he’s back in middle school facing his first crush and the ensuing reactions of his body in response.

This can’t be real, no matter how much he’s been looking forward to seeing Alec again.

Behind him, Catarina’s chair gives a quiet creak as she also rises to meet the unexpected intrusion, and that’s when it hits him that wow, okay, this _is_ real. He isn’t imagining Alec here, he isn’t projecting fantasy into the world and going crazy after all. 

In all his convoluted thinking, he hasn’t done anything but stand there dumbfounded. Alec’s eyes pierce into him with a startling clarity and Magnus feels a small surge of pride at the ease with which he can decipher the emotions that flicker through them in quick succession: surprise, hesitation, worry, and finally the steely repression caused by the impenetrable force of his self-control. “I’m looking for Ragnor Fell,” Alec informs them, voice low and commanding. “Is he here?”

There’s a moment of desperation where Magnus struggles to regain his flimsy hold on the strings of hope that lift his heart high with their trickery, where they twist and snap and release the tethers until it falls back into the overwhelming cavity of his empty chest. Alec isn’t here for him in a moment of romantic impulse. He’s here for Ragnor.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Catarina calls from behind, moving forward with a stern gaze fixed on Alec, and he’s thankful for her stepping in where words fail him. 

Calculating, Alec’s eyes rake over the equipment, modems, towers, and parts that make up their company. With creeping realization Magnus notices he’s searching for another body he may have missed in hiding, any sort of threat. 

Earnest in his gaze, Alec turns to Catarina whose features falter just a fraction with worry, until finally she nods a silent understanding and it’s then that Alec leans back to mutter something outside. A woman peers through the entrance to the door, long black hair, skeptical brown eyes and bright red lips making themselves known in the small space of their workplace, before she gracefully saunters in with Alec locking the door behind her. 

Alec’s voice travels through Magnus, burrows low in the hollowness between his heart and stomach that’s caving in on itself in a warped mix of confusion, panic, and desire. “Is it safe?”

Catarina motions to the back room, Ragnor’s office where meetings take place before missions are laid out, and silently the four of them make their way inside, filing in one at a time until the resounding click of the lock echoes in the emptiness. “There are frequencies that surround this room to block out anyone with the ability to listen in on us,” she explains. “You can speak freely here.”

If he focuses, he can hear it, the hum and vibrations of the tense electricity in the room that hovers around them, combined with the charged atmosphere that seems to spark between him and Alec. In his head he imagined that standing in front of Alec again would bring him a calm happiness and a healthy amount of excitement. But there’s something about the way Alec looks anywhere but at him that fries his nerves with uncertainty, that shines a light on the situation at hand where Alec and his partner have stormed into his workplace demanding Ragnor, and the unnerving presence that has been sitting over the shop all day seems to soar.

“What’s going on?” He manages finally, his voice thick with confusion when nobody steps in to speak. “Why are you looking for Ragnor?”

The woman beside Alec answers instead, flipping loose locks over her shoulder and crossing her arms in a domineering pose that Magnus supposes is meant to be intimidating. It would be, if he wasn’t still so frazzled by Alec’s close proximity in the room. “We believe he and his partner have been kidnapped, but we need to know for certain that he’s not the one behind the attack.”

So many thoughts crash into his mind in an instant, and he finds himself battling them one by one with the furious blinking of his eyes. Incredulity, first and foremost, for the fact that they believe Ragnor to be the one behind something as inane as kidnapping himself. Fear for the fact that one of his best friends is clearly in danger and he hadn’t even held an inkling of suspicion for his sudden disappearance. And third, the rising need to get the fuck out of the confines of this small office to go and find him. 

“How did this happen?”

Alec turns to Catarina with a frown. “We don’t know the details, since everything was wiped from the computer left in the hotel, but we received an emergency transmission from Ragnor four and a half hours into their mission to retrieve intel at Belcourt Ent. and neither of them reported back. That was a day and a half ago, and the way the room had been ransacked leads us to believe it was a planned attack.”

“And you don’t think Aldertree was behind it?”

The way Alec snaps his attention towards Magnus and narrows his eyes in suspicion almost makes him regret his choice to voice his query. But Alec hadn’t seen the fear in Ragnor’s eyes that day he snapped, hadn’t seen the troubles and ghosts of his past and new terrors that haunted him the last evening Magnus had walked with him to his car. Whatever is going on now, he’s certain Ragnor’s innocent. 

“If Ragnor was able to send out an emergency transmission, then Aldertree had likely been compromised before Ragnor had been, giving him enough time to get it to us.”

It makes sense if you take into account all of the facts, he knows it does, but it doesn’t stop the dubious worry that runs a cold chill through his veins.

“What happens now?” Catarina asks from her spot against the wall. She doesn’t outwardly show the unease Magnus knows she’s keeping in check, but he can hear it in the high pitch of her voice and the subtle way it shakes as it leaves her mouth.

Alec sighs and runs his hand through his hair, sticking wayward strands into odd angles that Magnus has to fight the urge to smooth down. “We need information. We need to figure out who’s behind this, what they’re after, and why.”

The woman beside Alec interjects with another question once Alec is finished, tilting her head to study them as she speaks. “Do you guys have any information on what might have placed a target on Ragnor’s back?” 

Magnus and Catarina look to each other for answers, before shaking their heads when they produce none. They stay somber in the collective silence that follows because deep down the guilt hits heavy that they didn’t try hard enough to get the words out of Ragnor, that they could have prevented this had they had simply pushed a little longer and been more insistent. But even then, would Ragnor have submitted? Ragnor, with all the haunting crypticism he holds behind the tight-lipped and stoic demeanor he presents to the world, the same man who took Magnus in and gave him a newfound purpose in life. Would he have accepted the sort of aggressive tactics of assistance from either of them that they would have had to enact to pull out all of his secrets?

They may never get the chance to find out.

“He seemed stressed lately, more so than usual,” Catarina offers, pitifully. “He wouldn’t tell us why or what was bothering him, but he wasn’t quite himself.”

Suddenly, Magnus has a sobering realization. “The file!” 

“What file?” Alec’s companion takes a step forward, eager for more information.

Hesitantly, he spares Catarina a glance and waits for the small nod of permission before moving to Ragnor’s desk, shuffling through the mess of papers that are strewn haphazard across it until he finds the folder he’s looking for. “Last week he spent hours looking through this file. He always had it open, and I assumed it was information pertaining to his latest mission, so I never asked, but the more he looked through it the more frustrated he seemed to become.”

Alec snags the folder out of his hands immediately, and Magnus shoves back the disgruntled snort that almost sneaks out at the brash treatment, choosing instead to focus on the expressions that drift across Alec’s face as he and the woman dutifully scan the papers inside. Whatever they find it must be enough, it must mean _something_ to them, because the woman turns to look up at Alec with wide eyes and a whispered word that sounds vaguely like “Valentine.”

In a quick motion, Alec reaches to unlock the office door and swing it open with the woman quick to follow, and Magnus scrambles undignified as he catches up.

“Wait! What’s going on? Where are you going?” Magnus calls, indignant into the empty room of the shop. “You haven’t given us any information!”

When his words don’t hold the power he tries to emanate, Magnus rushes forward to snag Alec’s arm in a grip that stops him in his tracks and brings his attention back. It’s entirely effective in the way it forces Alec to whirl around on him, but now that he’s face to face with the fierce glare of hazel eyes and the rigid set of Alec’s jaw, the conflicting emotions of finally getting to stare over at Alec in person again wages war with his overwhelming worry to find his friend. _This is not the time, Magnus._

“We were the ones who came seeking information, and now we have it,” Alec grits out. “Thank you for your assistance Mr. Bane, but we will handle this from here.”

The faint whisper of his name spoken with a hint of awe trails from behind Alec, but he ignores it, bristling where he stands as he applies a firmer pressure to the arm that tries to worm its way out of his grasp. “As much faith as I have in you _handling things_ , I have a right to know what’s going on, and where our friend has been taken.”

Alec opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by the woman at his side. “Alec, it’s fine. Let’s bring them back to The Clave, they may be more helpful than we know, especially since you and—”

“Fine,” Alec snaps. 

The woman smiles affectionately up at Alec, unaffected by his irascible behavior, before turning to Magnus with a wry smile and a wink. “Follow us.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


The drive to The Clave is filled with awkward silences, interrupted sentences, and a lot of snappy comments in hushed whispers that spawn from the front seat of the car. Isabelle, Magnus finally gets her name when she quickly turns to introduce herself, is Alec’s younger sister and, under different circumstances, someone he could see himself becoming fast friends with. As clever as she is beautiful, she seemingly holds a keen sense on all things Alec, a skill Magnus finds himself wholly envious of.

“I apologize for my brother,” she sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically when Alec shuts down another one of her attempts to lighten the mood. “He’s had a stick up his ass ever since his last mission.”

As distracting as her statement is to his confused, overworked heart, it doesn’t stop Magnus from catching the twinkle in Isabelle’s eye when she peeks back at him with a mischievous grin. Beside him, he can see Catarina turning her attention to them, but he ignores it in favor of seeking out whatever small reaction Isabelle’s words have on her brother, wondering if maybe he’s been just as miserable as Magnus has been in the gray, unresolved limbo of hope the past week brought him.

But there is no reaction, nothing discernible at least from his spot in the back seat of the car, and Magnus wonders if Isabelle is toying with him. She clearly knows something she won’t say out loud, something obvious in the smirks and sneaky comments she continues to shoot between him and Alec. Maybe she’s trying to get a rise out of one of them, using her words to implicate and rile, all while Alec remains a wall to her attempts. Maybe she’s commenting on another mission, something more recent that doesn’t even involve Magnus. It’s possible — probable, honestly — though that doesn’t prevent the dejected flutter in his chest that he knows he shouldn't give half a mind to. There are more pressing matters at hand than if Isabelle is goading them, or whether or not he was on Alec’s mind as much as Alec was on his.

He chooses to spend the rest of the ride in silence, jabs about Alec and innuendos about the two of them forcibly pushed away as he peers out of the tinted backseat window. It casts the scene outside in a dim tone, but he can still see the lights that begin to bloom to life with the slow descent of the sun as the night rises with the twinkle of stars in the sky. People flit in and out of view as they continue en route, groups of friends that laugh joyously and make him shift in discomfort at the idea that his own friend is somewhere out there with the very likely reality of only a few breaths left in him. Perhaps none at all. 

When they pass by a park Magnus hears children laughing and screaming, boisterous and alive, and all it brings forth are visions of guards falling in a lifeless heap. No fight left in them, defeated and forgotten, another body in the way. A quick snuff of the inevitable. He thinks of all the kids born on the day of their mission and toys with the idea of reincarnation, wondering if it could be real. He could believe that they’re not gone, just placed elsewhere.

A turn, then another, and the next stop they take leaves Magnus with the perfect view of a couple, a man and woman embraced in the heat of their bodies with smiles and kisses, and Magnus' eyes green with envy to soak it all up. He wonders if he's missed something, some unmarked memo everyone received in the mail to somehow put them all in high spirits. Somewhere, there must be someone not washed up in this conspiracy of elation, somebody who has just lost a family member, or someone who has just had their heart broken. Can everyone really be this happy? Surely not, because there are still wars waging, underground and unseen to the public. Wars that consume, wars that devastate, and not all of them military. 

There are wars in the darkest of night, inside the minds and thoughts of those that want to destroy. People like Valentine exist, people who want to threaten the very existence of people like this couple that are lost in each other’s eyes, dazed and blissfully unaware of the horrors that exist in the same city.

This city, their home, Magnus’ home. Alec’s home.

The car still hasn’t moved, and Magnus takes this time to drag his eyes across the vehicle, taking in one at a time the passengers that make it up. The ruffle of Alec’s hair as it peaks over the seat before him, to Isabelle who sits relaxed but alert, and then to Cat beside him who stares down at the fingers she can’t seem to stop rubbing together in a nervous tick. He contemplates reaching out to grab her hand, to warm it with his own and take some of the worry away, but the confidence to settle any woes whittles away with the passing seconds, so he stays where he is.

And when the car starts to move again, when the couple fades in a passing blur of colors, he finds Alec’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, watching him with the fragile hint of something that longs to be uncovered, if only they were not the people they are here and now, in this vehicle, in this point in time. 

But they can’t change that fact, just as much as they can’t wish Ragnor and Aldertree back to safety.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The Clave is as pristine and unwelcoming as Magnus remembers, only where there once held intrigue and excitement as Magnus stepped into the grand foyer, there now lies a sour taste in the back of his throat that’s tinged with disdain.

When they walk through corridors and pass the rooms that line them, Magnus makes mental assumptions of what they could hold, of who spends their time locked inside and what they might do. There’s a training room labeled to the right, with broad open windows and dimmed hues that throw soft shadows across the equipment stacked high and extensively across the walls. He imagines Alec in here, decked head to toe in gear and huffing with exertion as he slams his fists into a punching bag. And then another version of him, squatting down and adjusting the posture of a young boy or girl, training someone to take his place, training a weapon just like he’s supposed to.

The shake of his head is a small motion, but it clears the thoughts just the same, and he turns back to take in the ornate and richly decorated office of Robert Lightwood that he remembers from his last visit.

“Alec, Isabelle,” Robert nods. “I see you’ve brought company.”

Apropos of his father’s comment, Alec hands Ragnor’s file to Robert and begins his explanation. “It seems Ragnor Fell was of the suspicion that there was a double agent in The Clave, someone who was leaking sensitive information to another agency. He’s noted several instances that caught his attention,” Alec pauses, just a slight hesitation that Magnus can pick up on. “In his reports, most of these instances he’s documented belong to and lead back to you.”

Robert hums and plucks several small post-it notes from inside the folder, inspecting them with carefully masked annoyance. “So it seems. Although,” he pauses, lifting another page that looks similar to the blueprints Magnus remembers from his mission with Alec, “this does prove to be quite interesting.”

Alec nods, curt. “I thought so.” Then, he takes a step towards the mahogany desk and presses light fingers to the decorative folders that sit in a pile off to the side. “The target might be off, but I think he was on the right track. I believe the Valentine mission is a piece of the puzzle, but I’m having trouble finding where that thread leads.”

In a sly, barely noticeable movement, Magnus can see the way Robert’s eyes trail across the room, catching him in a frosty look that he’s only capable of holding for less time than he’d like. It taints his mouth with unnecessary and questionable defeat, and though Magnus knows he’s done nothing wrong, he can see why the suspicion would fall upon him. Alec remains unmoving, tense and poised until Isabelle’s words filter in, and only then does he take a step back and offer her the spotlight for her theories.

“Whoever it is, we need to find out what information they’ve been gathering, why, and who they’ve received their orders from. I can’t think of anyone who would betray us, so it could be any of the new-hires we’ve taken on the past few months.”

The minutes that pass, Magnus tunes out. It’s an array of supposition, names thrown out and tossed into scenarios that are played out verbally in front of them. None of it makes sense to him, none of the names seem familiar except those moments when Ragnor’s name is brought up and bound tightly to Aldertree’s. They come as a package deal, he notices, and Magnus begins to grow annoyed at the fact that he knows nothing of this man that’s been captured with his friend, knows nothing of Ragnor’s life that he lives within the files of The Clave. 

Beside him, Catarina begins to toss out her own questions, avid and strong in her ideas that she brings to light, and it’s with the lead of her voice that he returns to the conversation at hand. 

“Who authorized the intel mission at Belcourt Enterprise?”

“Herondale,” Robert informs. “Although she insisted that it was a simple mission Aldertree and Ragnor could handle, in and out.”

“Aldertree went above you?” 

Robert raises a hand to shut down Alec’s accusations. “I wasn’t in the office that day, Herondale would have been his only option.”

“If Aldertree and Fell were captured, the mission was never successful,” Isabelle murmurs from her spot beside Robert. “We never got the information about what Belcourt is keeping hushed.”

There’s a sudden lull, and Magnus can practically hear the cogs working in overdrive, can all but see the overflowing of technicalities and plans forming between them all. There’s more missing that they haven’t uncovered, more secrets that lie further than these files dive into, and Belcourt seems to be the connection between Valentine, Ragnor, and Aldertree. 

“I’ll go,” Alec’s voice pierces through the silence, and Magnus hates the chill that runs down his spine and the way his heart makes itself known.

“Alec, Lydia isn’t back yet,” Isabelle says in a rush.

“It’s just intel gathering, it’s not that hard,” he supplies as if that makes the mission any less deadly. “I’ll ask Simon.”

Isabelle rolls her eyes, and then as if remembering he exists, she lets them fall onto Magnus. “Actually, why don’t you and—”

“No,” Alec barks, and the room shifts into a disconcerting hush.

Robert is the first to speak, standing from his plush, over-embellished seat behind the desk. “Mr. Bane, I understand that we do not have a formal mission briefing for you at this moment in time, nor a contract,” his eyes are firm, still housing cautious distrust, “but we would be very much obliged if you could partake in this imperative mission with my son.”

The hand that rests limply at Alec’s side now balls into a fist at the finality in his father’s words, and Magnus feels a spark of anger at the evident disapproval Alec shows to work with him again. Was he that bad of a partner? Magnus had not been without his faults, but he was under the impression that they had ended their mission on good terms, open-ended though it was.

But now, with the way Alec clenches his fist and stands rigid, he’s not so sure of that.

“Yeah, of course,” Magnus swallows, crossing his arms in an innate gesture that does nothing to protect him from the heated glare Alec throws his way. “I’ll do it.”

Across the room Isabelle grants him a small, supportive smile, the only reassurance he receives. Somehow it’s enough.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Uncomfortable doesn’t begin to cover the heedful unease that brews between the two of them in the seclusion of the hotel room.

Rushed and a last minute choice, the hotel is closer and less extravagant than the previous one, but Magnus doesn’t really mind that it’s not as tasteful, doesn’t mind the paint that peels in the corners of the walls and the carpet that’s fitted with unnamed stains. It fits, matches the atmosphere of this new and unexpected mission perfectly, and judging by the way Alec is hastily yanking cords out of the equipment bags and tossing them this way and that, he clearly couldn’t care less.

“Really, you should take it to dinner first if you’re going to manhandle it like that,” Magnus throws out nonchalant. Alec is unamused.

Despite each and every deflection Magnus receives for every flirty word he offers, he does his best to remain level-headed, to keep his cool where Alec is slowly losing his. 

It takes less time than the first to set up the computer and equipment, and they make quick work of Alec’s gear, the jingling of buckles coming undone and velcro ripping the only sounds that fill the room past the angry huffs and exasperated sighs.

It’s frustrating that Alec has still said nothing to him, refusing to acknowledge the huge task they’ve been dealt and what it could mean for The Clave, Ragnor, and Aldertree if they’re either successful or not. He refuses to comment on the fact that yet again they’ve been thrust into each other’s lives without even trying, surely a sign from the universe that means something more than Magnus wants to shrug off as coincidence. Maybe Alec doesn’t care that Magnus is in front of him, helping secure the lightweight bulletproof vest that clings tight to his abdomen, or working the small camera onto the button of his shirt and letting his fingers brush just a breath too long.

Perhaps Alec hates that Magnus is here, that whoever this Simon guy is doesn’t get the opportunity to take his spot because Magnus happened to be in the right place at the right time. It’s not his fault that his best friend and boss had been kidnapped from right under The Clave’s nose with nobody the wiser, and he sure as hell is not going to apologize for being adamant in shoving his way into their search for him.

This mission… it’s only a means to an end for Magnus, just a way to get more information on where the fuck his friend has been taken to, an insight onto what possibly could have transpired that night with Ragnor and Aldertree. As incessantly as Alec has been running circles in Magnus’ head the past week, it’s with a quick easiness that Magnus can confidently say he wasn’t a deciding factor in his decision to accept this mission. He doesn’t come close to being even a ghost of a reason why Magnus had said yes.

The prospect for hopeful coffee shop visits and forlorn sunrises before bed is gone, now replaced with the fueling demand to get this over with as soon as possible, to get one step closer to finding Ragnor and Aldertree and uncovering the truth.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to work with you,” Magnus hears, quiet beside him as they reach into the bag of weaponry to gather items to supply Alec with, just in case. His heart speeds at the sound, treacherous and pulsing.

“It’s fine, I get it,” Magnus responds, half-shrugging a shoulder in feigned indifference as he actively ignores the rising pound that threatens his words. “I’m a lot to handle.”

He doesn’t turn to face Alec no matter how hard he wants to, no matter how strong his desire is to feel the hot puff of a breath against his face in slowed time like he had a few weeks ago. In his peripheral, he can see Alec watching him, can almost feel the tangible craving for Magnus to look at him, but he won’t give in.

He doesn’t want to give in, at least. Not until the timid press of Alec’s fingers to the muscle of Magnus’ arm pulls him away from the spiral of his thoughts. “You’re not,” Alec pauses, searching for the right words, only to mimic back his own, “a lot to handle. I just—I guess I just—I mean—”

“Alec, it’s fine.”

After what feels like hours of Alec’s eyes boring into his and the heat of fingertips that burn into his arm, Alec finally pulls back. He feels the conflict warring inside of him, the realization that Alec is so close and _here_ , the one thing he’s been wanting the past two weeks. But just above it sits the rational side of his brain berating him for being distracted by lust when Ragnor is out there somewhere, counting on him, counting on him and Alec _together_. So he steels himself and shuts off from the battle that can’t help but simmer deep inside, to focus on the one in front of them instead.

They don’t speak when it isn’t necessary, they don’t brush close like the first mission where Magnus was full of giddy energy and the inherent inclination to be just a little bit flirty and suggestive.

This is different. It’s professional, it’s polite. 

This is how it should have been.

And in spite of his desire to keep the wall over his heart higher than it’s ever been, he still allows the breathless tumble of “Be seeing you, Archer” to fall from his lips.

* * *

  
  
  


The mission is quick and straightforward, easier than Magnus honestly expected, and throughout all of it Alec hardly needed directing or assistance for anything that wasn’t blindingly obvious. Despite the stilted conversation and the electric charge of something not quite lust or attraction, they still worked well together and the way the confidence slithers through him at that notion makes Magnus sit straighter in his seat across from Robert Lightwood. Beside him sits Alec like he had during Magnus’ first visit here, perched on the edge and waiting to flee at a moment's notice. Behind them, Catarina and Isabelle remain poised and waiting for the mission results.

“They have an auction planned for Saturday night, a moderate event devised between a group of dignitaries, so we have a little over twenty-four hours to prepare. From what we gathered, they’ve got some major advancements they’re unveiling in regards to weapons and bio-chemical warfare. Several governments will be in attendance, all looking to get their hands on Valentine’s blueprints, so that must have been what they acquired from our double agent.”

Alec’s words are succinct in their admission, offering all that he’s gained in the short span of a few hours, and Robert takes a moment to let it sink in.

“So we’ve been crossed, and now Belcourt is in possession of the blueprints you stole from Valentine?”

Alec nods and begins again, “I suspect they’ll be at the auction, whoever it is. If we can get a group in there we can split off and search for Ragnor and Aldertree while the others search out the double agent and keep tabs on the blueprints. It doesn’t have to be auctioned off to another country if we can outbid them.”

His words hang in the air, uncertain. It’s a good plan, and if everything works out as described without a hitch, then it would be a great success for The Clave. However, there is the possibility for being caught, for finding the mole and being outed in enemy territory. The huge weight of hypotheticals is a risk that Magnus isn’t sure Robert is willing to take, not to mention the crippling cost of buying out the blueprints from another country with billions of dollars in backing funds.

After long deliberation, it’s not Robert who speaks next, but Isabelle. “I’ll gather Jace, Clary and Simon. Lydia just landed back in New York, and if Catarina and Magnus are willing, they could be of help as well.” At that, Alec opens his mouth to retort, but Isabelle silences him with a raised palm. “It’s the best chance we’ve got, Alec. We can do this.”

There are several chances for Magnus and Cat to back out, several chances for them to decline the invitation and go back to the safety of the tech shop in hopes that Alec and Isabelle are successful. But there’s a look in Catarina’s eye that he knows is mirrored back at her, a look that says she’s not going to leave the inevitability of her friend coming back alive up to relative strangers.

With a nod, Magnus turns to Alec. “We’re in.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The lounge room, Magnus notices as he takes in the ambient lighting, overly decorated antiquities and heavy flower arrangements, must be tended to by the same interior designer as Robert’s office. If he were unaware of the horrors this building must house, the knowledge of treachery and ambiguous rationale for murder, then it might even seem cozy. But as is, it just comes across ostentatious. 

The already tense and brittle dynamic between the group of four changes immediately with the door that swings open and the addition of Clary, Jace, and Simon, all of whom Isabelle introduces with a secretive smile.

“You must be Bane,” Jace says with a beaming grin as he extends his hand once he sweeps into the room with Clary quick to follow. “We’ve heard so much about you,” he adds cryptically.

From Alec’s spot in the corner of the couch he and Isabelle occupy across the room, Magnus can see the daggers in his eyes that direct themselves to the open back of the blond.

“Good things, of course,” the red-head supplies with a wink before Magnus can even throw out the question. She shakes his hand briefly after Jace, before planting herself firmly in the spot between Isabelle and Alec, her hand coming to rest on Isabelle’s knee in a comforting tell. It warms something in him when the two girls turn to face each other with affectionate smiles, and when the lean of their heads gravitate together, he turns back to the door that creaks open once more with a new arrival.

A blonde woman passes the threshold, and for her, Alec stands. “Lydia,” he exhales a relieved sigh. 

The stab of something awful surprises Magnus, and he finds himself shifting in his seat to dissipate the feeling as he watches Alec encircle Lydia in a quick hug. It’s a brief moment, no lingering hands or looks, nothing to imply it’s anything more than platonic, but still Magnus can’t help the discomfort that refuses to settle. 

“Alright, so what’s this plan you’ve got for us?” Simon asks, adjusting the wide spectacles that rest on his nose as he shifts forward to the edge of his seat. 

“As I’m sure you all are aware, Aldertree and Fell have been taken, and with them the blueprints that Bane and I acquired from Valentine.” The group nods, and when Alec seems confident that everyone’s on the same page, he continues with a low, authoritative voice. “Thanks to Fell’s insight, we’ve deduced that there’s a double agent in The Clave who had been passing along mission details to Belcourt Enterprise until they were finally able to get their hands on the blueprints. The intel we’ve gathered proves that they are in possession of it and that they are hosting an auction to sell it, as well as other potentially deadly warfare that they plan to unveil, to the highest bidder.”

“There are going to be officials from other countries, delegates and people of military importance who will be in attendance, but our goals are simple. We need to find Fell and Aldertree and bring them back safely, as well as regain the blueprints that have been stolen. Those blueprints were never to leave Herondale, and it is crucial they be returned to her immediately. Do you all understand?”

“How are we going to take back the blueprints?” Jace asks.

“Ideally we can perform a swap and put a fake in its place, but if there’s no avenue for that path we may just need to try and outbid,” Isabelle responds.

“How long do we have until the auction?” Lydia inquires from her spot where Alec had been previously sitting beside Clary and Isabelle.

“The auction is scheduled to begin at seven tomorrow evening, and expected to last four or five hours,” Alec’s voice comes in, the same smooth tone as before. “We’ll rendezvous at the safe house three hours before and prepare then. It’ll be a group mission so there’s no need for separation, however we will be breaking off at points so there will be no combined communication. All of the Watchers will be in the same room, so any information that needs to be passed to us on the field can be directed that way. Understood?”

There’s a hum of agreement, before Catarina’s soft voice calls out to Alec. “Who will be on the field, and which groups are going to handle which task?”

It’s a question Magnus hadn’t even considered until now, and mentally he scans the room and checks off one by one which task he believes everyone will be delegated to. 

Without hesitation, Alec begins to list them off. “Lydia and I will be in charge of searching for Fell and Aldertree, with Jace and Clary to assist. Simon and Izzy, you two are going to see if a swap will be successful, and if not you’ll be handling the bidding and general,” he trails off with a brisk wave of his hand, “schmoozing. Use whatever distractions you need to, just make sure you’re that final bid.”

Light chatter begins between Clary, Simon, and Isabelle, and it’s only when Alec turns to talk to Lydia that Magnus speaks up. “And what about Catarina and I?”

Alec tenses, and the flare of anger is back and kindled low inside of Magnus. “You and Catarina,” Alec mumbles, “are to remain safe and stay out of the way.”

“Excuse me?” Magnus sputters, standing in a quick movement. “You expect us to just sit back and do nothing?”

The force with which Alec turns on him only exacerbates the heavy thud against his ribs, and he tries not to reel in his spot. “That,” Alec enunciates with crisp intonation, “is exactly what I expect.”

Time seems forgotten in the moments that Alec steps close, with sharp clarity in his eyes that Magnus tries to focus on through the anger that’s boiling and ready to steam out. There’s more than annoyance and anger in those eyes, so close and clear in front of him. Inside, he can see distress and worry, can see the flickering of something that only shows when Alec glances down to Magnus’ lips and back up, fear of being caught or giving in.

In Alec’s eyes he sees himself, only not the version of himself he knows he puts out, but the Magnus that’s shown in the morning light with sated puffs of air and sensual smiles, the him that stares up at Alec in close proximity with words on the tip of his tongue that just need a bit of urging to exist outside of his mind.

A cough breaks the trance, and Catarina’s voice once again permeates the fog with the leadership that comes from experience. “With all due respect Alec, Magnus and I are not going to sit on the sidelines and wait for you guys to do all the work. If you will not let us help you, we will find another way.”

Though the words are polite, he can hear the underlying threat behind them, and he feels against his face the warm air of the sigh that leaves Alec’s lips as he turns to Catarina. 

“If that’s how it has to be,” Alec says after a moment, defeated by the defiance Catarina must be showing, “then Lydia will assist Isabelle on the field, and Magnus will be her Watcher.”

“I think it would be safer for all parties involved if Catarina takes on as Lydia’s Watcher,” Magnus hastily suggests, trying to ignore the clench of Alec’s jaw from his profile view.

The seconds are long as Alec seems to fight the urge to turn back to Magnus, as he doubtlessly scans every possible option to counter him with. He must not find any, nothing plausible at least, because finally he gives in with a terse, “so be it.”

It doesn’t instill Magnus with the conviction he hopes for, and Alec’s faith in his abilities feel nonexistent in how he offers nothing more than that. They have less than a day to prepare, less than a day to figure out the best ways to go about this unorthodox and patched up mission, and Magnus just hopes Ragnor is still out there, that he can hold on for a little while longer.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The next few hours seem to trudge on, a slow tide of patience just above the undercurrent of nerves that threaten to crash into Magnus with even the whisper of more bad news. Catarina remains by his side for most of it, accompanying him for a fitful rest in the extra rooms of The Clave where they house guests for an extended period of time. 

It’s a lot to take in, everything that has happened the past few days. From Ragnor’s shifty actions, to his sudden disappearance, his resulting kidnapping, ending with the anti-climactic mission he shared with Alec. All of it falls within the realm of unimaginable, and if he wasn’t living it himself he’d believe it to be the premise of a bad movie. But this is it, this is his life right now, stuck in the walls of this ancient architecture where people — _children_ — are bred to be spies and trained killers. 

The longer he thinks about it all, the more he finds his moral compass waning, veering off to a mismatched North until he feels ready to snap the hand where it bends. It’s easier to accept that the guards at the other end of this mission are his enemies, easier to stomach the thought of having to pull the trigger on a nameless face with still so much more left to accomplish.

Because as much as he wants to see the good in everything, _everyone_ , as much as he wants to believe that they’ve got the same grounding, the same mindset as him, he knows now that it’s just not true. These people know who they’re working for, they know the means don’t justify the ends, and they still raise their guns to Alec with intent to kill. Because that’s what they’re trained for, that’s what Magnus is trained for now, this is his life.

They took his friend, and he’ll do whatever it takes to get Ragnor back.

The shower he takes after his nap is refreshing, and it’s when he’s just finished reapplying his eyeliner that he receives a curious knock on his door. His first thought is Catarina, but the water he can hear running in the room beside his alerts him to the fact that it’s not her.

What he isn’t expecting is the distressed face of Alec Lightwood to greet him on the other side of the door, and though he has half a mind to shut it where he stands, he decides that there’s no use picking a fight before the battle.

“Hey,” Alec mumbles towards the ground where he refuses to look over at Magnus, a common occurrence lately. “Can we talk?”

“You already are,” Magnus replies in a clipped tone that he hopes conveys exactly how little he thinks of this budding conversation. He can’t help his reaction, warranted or not. Alec has been on an elevated level of snappiness ever since he barged back into Magnus’ life, so the flighty back-and-forth he’s playing at does nothing but grate harder on his already shoddy nerves. Whether he agrees with the reasoning or not, Alec’s not allowed to just stand in front of him like this and ask for more of Magnus’ attention, not allowed to pretend he actually cares what Magnus thinks all of the sudden. 

But Alec says nothing at that, only steps into the room where Magnus gives a pained sigh at the realization that had this been two weeks ago, the sight of Alec closing the door to his room would have led to many a flirty suggestion, a wink of his eye and bite of his lip. But now… now it’s all muddy with confusion, smeared where the line between partners and professionals should be, and it’s exhausting trying to decipher every nuance of the relationship they find themselves in at any given time. With opportunities to talk far and few between the chaos going on around them, it hasn’t felt like the right time. Not until now, apparently.

Gravity around him feels heavier here in this room, weighs him down with the force of the strained silence that envelops them now, and with sluggish steps he moves to sit at the edge of the bed to steady himself. Alec steps close, seems to consider his options on how near or far to Magnus he should place himself, and chooses to stay at a distance with arms crossed.

“I want to apologize, for uh, for being an ass the past two days.”

Magnus perks a brow and looks up at Alec with a suspicious stare. “Why are you apologizing now?”

There’s a huff that leaves Alec, clearly agitated with the questioning and lack of immediate acceptance, but Magnus requires answers now after having to endure the withering glares Alec has been hurling his way the past few days. “Look, this mission isn’t as prepared or planned out as I would prefer, and group missions are rarely successful because of the huge risks involved of managing that many bodies. It’s different when it’s just the two of us, there’s always a chance we fail of course, but… I just don’t want us to go into this with you thinking I hate you, or that I’m angry with you or anything. Who knows if we,” Alec pauses mid-sentence, because the next words are ones Magnus can hear without them having to be voiced. “Who knows if—” he never finishes.

_Who knows if we never get the chance to talk after the mission is over?_

_Who knows if we never make it out alive?_

Swallowing down the fear that edges into the worry of his mind, Magnus changes the subject back to the point. “Why have you been such a dick?”

There’s hurt, just for a moment, and then resignation is quick to follow. “I thought if I was aggressive about it you wouldn’t want to come, that you’d stay away.”

“You disliked working with me so much you tried to force me out?”

“I don’t dislike working with you,” Alec groans, rubbing a palm against his forehead the same way Magnus remembers seeing through the grainy feed of the video on his laptop.

“Then why—”

“Why what?” Alec snaps, taking a step closer. “What don’t you get? Why can’t you just understand why I don’t want you to come without me having to say it out loud?”

The words are pleading as they fall from Alec’s lips, and Magnus feels the tightening in his chest at their sound, the way they seem to wrap around and drag him under the spell of their fierce longing. Slowly, and with so much hesitation that Magnus wonders if he’s imagining it, Alec kneels in front of him.

A hand presses to his then, and gently another, surrounding him in a warmth that threatens to break him where he sits with it’s tenderness. Hazel eyes peer up at him, alight with something that for once isn’t annoyance or anger, something purer and more heartfelt, and Magnus doesn’t have it in him to look away or pull back this time.

“I don’t hate working with you,” Alec begins. “I know I haven’t proven that, I’ve shown you nothing but the worst in me, but it’s the truth whether you choose to accept it or not. I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t difficult, just not for the reasons I’m sure you’ve got stuck in that thick skull of yours. The thought of you getting hurt, or killed,” Alec swallows, the hint of his voice just a soft tremor in the air. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

His heart follows the rhythm of Alec’s words, follows them to the end and takes off in a rapid cadence with the heavy clutch of Alec’s confession doing little to slow it. It’s what he’s wanted to hear, it’s all the words he never expected but hoped for, and now that he has them he’s lost the coherency to do or say anything in return. 

But Alec seems content to just watch him, to take in every shift in his features, to allow his eyes the gratuitous seconds that they’re allowed in the privacy of this room before duty calls. Who knows how long they have or how fast time is passing outside of the bubble that encompasses them, because Magnus doesn’t want to waste another moment holding himself back from the feelings he’s been forced to contain waiting for Alec, if fate would just allow it.

As gracefully as he can manage in the disorientation of Alec’s revelation, he slides off the edge of the bed and sinks down onto his knees in front of him. Here on the floor, they’re face-to-face. Here they’re no longer hiding behind hopeful thoughts and fragile words they should have said. Here, they’re just Magnus and Alec, two people who have been thrown together into unbelievable circumstances time and time again, and have yet to take advantage of it.

Magnus watches with rapt attention the way Alec’s eyelids flutter shut at the gentle brush of his fingers as they trail higher from their locked hands, slow and leading along the journey from Alec’s chest to broad shoulders. He counts each eyelash that dances before him with each stroke of his fingertips, longs to measure their length and wax poetic about the beauty that is Alexander Lightwood sitting on his knees in front of him. But Alec’s hands are firm where they move to touch him, grounding, one against his ribs and one lifting to graze the highlight of his jaw. 

And maybe, _maybe_ , he thinks to himself. Maybe this could be reality. Maybe this could be the path they take together. Maybe it doesn’t have to be chance encounters and surprise missions that throw them into each other's lives. It could be a choice, intentional with the only unknown factor being just how deep it goes and how long it lasts.

“Magnus,” Alec whispers with a hint of caution, the fear and affection swirling in the tremulous fog that seems to encase them. He's intimately aware of the vigorous way his blood pumps through his veins and how fast his heart beats at the sound of his name in the breath Alec ghosts across his face, a harsh betrayal of the calm he’s trying to portray. He hasn’t heard it since that morning, hasn’t heard Alec say it with such reverence since he had been hovering over him with the rising colors of daylight painted soft across his face. 

This is different. Alec had only been a stranger then, stunning and gorgeous and someone Magnus desperately wanted in his bed. Now he’s so much more than that, faceted and changed completely in Magnus’ mind that the beautiful lover in his memory can’t come close to comparing to despite the fact that they’re one and the same.

Because the Alec he remembers with the avidity for pleasure didn’t have dreams or aspirations, didn’t have fears, emotions, or apprehensions that daunt him and twist him into the natural leader Magnus has seen since. That Alec was a fantasy, as intense and fleeting as it had been. But this Alec in front of him, with trembling fingers and the reality of loss catching in his throat, this is the Alec Magnus wants to know.

Their foreheads meet in a gentle bump, then a slight brush of their noses together, and amid the turmoil in Magnus’ mind he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry at how tentative and innocent it all feels for two people who have explored each other as thoroughly as they had only weeks ago. But he does neither, because despite the irony of the situation, he’s still achingly aware of the tension of nerves that buzz just under his skin and threaten to consume him because Alec is here, _finally_. So he reigns it in, tips his chin up until the shaky puffs that leave his lips combine with Alec’s as they take the space closer one drawn out second at a time.

“Magnus,” a sharp succession of knocks at the door snap them back and away from each other, a precursor to Catarina opening the door with a gasp and an apology at the sight of them. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, clicking the door shut hastily and taking with her the precarious moment in time. 

Magnus laughs, loud, boisterous and unbefitting of the situation in every instance. He laughs at the awkward scene they must make here on the floor, both on their knees and dumbstruck at being caught. He laughs at the tension he can feel stripping away, wound so tightly inside of his gut because Alec doesn’t hate him after all, with everything that has happened he hasn’t irreparably damaged his chances. He laughs because right now he feels lighter than he has all week, feels simultaneously heavy with the search for his friend but freed with the bleak outlook that fades away with the sight of Alec’s stricken look at being caught, and slow forming smile at the sound of Magnus’ laugh. He laughs because it’s all he can do.

And though Alec doesn’t laugh with him, he watches Magnus with that smile present and his eyes shining with the emergence of something new blooming between them.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The mood that slips between the eight of them inside the flimsy safety of the hotel room suite is tense, despite the careful smiles and light jokes that Simon and Jace attempt to prod out of the group.

Unsettling are the thoughts that one of them might not make it back alive, even more so to believe that none of them will. There are unseen variables, factors that they may not have even considered or comprehended that could lend itself to the capture or death of any one of them, and it’s not without a small shudder that Magnus pushes those thoughts aside.

The twisted mess of cords before him still needs sorting, so as he unloops the one bundle with nimble fingers, he lets his eyes drift across the room to take in each and every person that he’s been fortunate enough to encounter in the short span of three days.

Behind him is Catarina, with the indentation between her brows a permanent fixture that has refused to budge since they left the tech shop and hushed words to Lydia as they go over the details of their role in the mission. Lydia, whose hair is elegantly swooped and decorated with braids. The striking blue of her sparkling gown that cuts into a low v and flows out into a loose fluff of fabric makes her look the definition of elegant tonight, so different from the studious and fierce looking woman who marched into the lounge a day prior. 

Against the wall beside him Isabelle assists Clary with her equipment, setting it up and maneuvering gracefully around the small space of the desk with ease despite the flowy red dress that trails down and splits with the slit to expose her toned legs that exude strength and training beneath their curves. It must not be comfortable for her or Lydia to have to strap guns and weapons into the hidden spaces under the clothing, having to twist and turn and keep a full range of motion while being tightly restricted to the limitations of the gowns they wear, all of it with the addition of heels.

Though the guys have it easier, the way Jace slides his arms into the sleeves of his tux with a grimace does nothing to make Magnus believe he’s anything short of uncomfortable. Simon watches him for a moment, then steps back to give Jace a once-over as he holds up two ties in front of him with squinted eyes. There’s a comment thrown out by Jace, an off-hand joke between them that draws a snicker from Simon who finally chooses the red paisley one, and Magnus can’t help the small smile and shake of his head as he returns his attention back to a particularly stubborn knot in the cording.

A hand is there before he can even try to work it out, tugging and pushing until the knot slides loose easily. A pitiful pattern starts up in Magnus’ chest as he follows the curve of the hand, glides his view across each knuckle on his way to the wrist and up the length of the arm until he’s meeting Alec’s eyes just over his shoulder. He's closer than Magnus expects, and if this mission doesn’t end him, surely the tempo for which Alec makes his heart beat is enough to do him in. It’s a morbid thought, but if there’s a time for dark humor, he thinks, it’s probably now.

“Need a hand?” Alec murmurs, low and sensual in the small space where their body heat mingles. 

“Are you offering?” Magnus quips, turning slowly with the assured brush of his shoulder against Alec’s chest, who makes no move to step back. “Because I could show you _exactly_ where I need one, if you are.”

Behind them is the chatter from the other occupants in the room, but all Magnus can focus on, all he _wants to focus on,_ is the steady sound of Alec’s breathing that gives no indication to the effect he can see budding in his eyes from the close distance and evocative words.

They don’t press their luck in the confines of this room any further than that, surrounded by the knowing but questioning eyes of their friends and family. There are beginnings of confessions that sprout in the gazes they offer each other as they move to unravel cords and plug them into modems and monitors. Things unspoken but understood when they listen for the quiet buzz of electricity that begins to fill the air as screens come to life.

The sexual tension that flooded their first mission seems like a puddle in comparison to the tsunami that hits them now. Starting in small brushes of the hand when both of them reach for the same item, in lasting touches as Magnus trails purposeful fingers along Alec’s side and the taller man balances himself with his palm against the small of Magnus’ back. It festers in intense stares when they finally lock eyes, and remains unabated when they do it again minutes later. And when the velcro rips as the comms are brought out of their casings and the sound brings forth the action of the others around them as they follow suit, only then do they shuffle together with the rising need to be closer.

Delicately, Magnus reaches up and presses the small bud of Alec’s comm into his ear, brushing a wayward strand of hair back into place in a single, fluid movement before inserting his own comm. All the while Alec watches him, and Magnus wonders what he sees past that heated stare he offers, if he can see how Magnus basks in it and lets it warm him from inside. Does he see it reflected back at him, fully and enthusiastically? Can he see the way Magnus attunes himself to him, accommodates himself to fit the best angles for Alec to appreciate him? 

Does he notice it now, as he must have in the coffee shop?

Magnus has changed since then. Immeasurably, since coffee splashed with cream, caramel, and flirty suggestions. He’s been weighed down and clouded over with growing inadequacy and doubt at his burgeoning abilities in this profession. But underneath every new layer that each mission brings, he’s still the same down to the core. He wonders if this is what Alec can see through all of it, stripped and raw and enticed with the realization that there’s more to be had here, more than one-night stands and one-off missions. 

As he brings his hands up to the flat surface of Alec’s abdomen to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles of his shirt, he can feel the light padding of the bulletproof vest and it brings him back to the mission at hand, to the very real fact that Alec’s life may only have these minutes left. 

“It’s 6:30, the limo will be outside in fifteen minutes, so let’s get our gear ready,” Lydia calls out, her voice calm and professional amidst the flare of panic that rises in Magnus’ throat.

The storm that battles in the hazel eyes above him does little to quell the seeping anxiety, so Magnus busies himself with fastening the camera over one of the buttons on Alec’s shirt, unobtrusive and nearly invisible if you didn’t know what you were looking for. 

“Magnus,” Alec whispers, clearly conflicted, but Magnus simply shakes his head and readjusts the deep blue bow-tie around Alec’s neck that matches Lydia’s.

“Whatever it is, save it for when you come back.”

It’s a promise. A promise for a future they may not have, a promise for more to come, for intentional mornings together and first names not said in secrecy. 

Magnus holds onto it tight, just as he holds onto the idea that Ragnor is still alive and safe, just as he holds onto the reassuring squeeze of Alec’s rough hand before he slips out the door.

  
  


* * *

Belcourt Enterprise through the capture of Alec’s camera is as beautiful and grand as he remembers from a few days ago, with towering floors that ascend a great distance above the ground and illuminate with the bright lights of success.

As they walk, Magnus can see the security guards that greet them at the door and can hear the suspicious tones and formal questioning as they ask for identity.

“DuMort,” Isabelle supplies casually with a lilt of a French accent to her voice as she steps into view, closer to the guard but still locked in arms with Jace. 

They’re confirmed on the electronic guest list almost immediately, ushered past the glass doors and through two hallways until they’re stepping into the main room of the building that holds the groups of foreign dignitaries and political representatives from other countries. It looks more like a ball than an auction for chemical and bio-warfare technology, less ominous and more noble and majestic with the gowns and tuxedos that fill Magnus’ view. 

“Do we not believe France will show up?” Magnus questions into the room.

“The French don’t really tend to make it to things like this,” Simon answers from his spot behind Magnus. “They show up once in a while when the stakes are not as high, but they like to lay low and sneak in when they’re more likely to be successful. Honestly, it’s a safer bet for them as I don’t think they’d be able to outbid the contenders that are already here.”

Magnus nods and takes it all in, processes the information as he filters over to a camera feed of the ensemble, his eyes roaming along the faces of people that seem familiar but not easily placed. He spots Alec quickly, his eyes drawn to him despite the way he tries to focus on anyone and anything else. 

Small talk occurs between their group and another, and Magnus can see the way Isabelle works her strengths, how she slips through the cracks of the barriers these politicians enact and hold steadfast. Her charms are subtle, genuine laughs and bright wide eyes that seem innocent enough to be trusted, a touch here and a brush of the hand there, all the while Lydia is there to support her. Together, they play off of each other, collaborate with their words a slow push and pull of humor, smiles, and Lydia’s quick politics and wit to keep their act just under the radar of suspicion.

It works, at least as well as Magnus can see through the feed when others begin to step into their small circle of conversation as the hour passes quickly.

He doesn’t listen to much, but he keeps an ear out for the strong sound of Alec’s laughter through the comm, the expulsion of breath through his nose when someone makes a joke or comment towards him that he offers just enough acknowledgement to not come off as rude. Every low rumble of a hum that passes through his ear wracks a shiver through Magnus, and after a half hour he busies himself with triple checking that all of the unlocked encryptions remain open and accessible, that there are no hidden files in the darkest corners of Belcourt’s extensive system layout.

“Excuse us,” he hears Alec’s voice interrupt casually, low but meant for his companions as he motions to himself and Jace. “We’re going to grab some drinks, would anyone like anything?”

It’s unusual to hear Alec’s voice like that, pitched higher with false enthusiasm and charisma that Magnus wonders if he’d be able to decipher if he were on the receiving end of it. They wade through the bodies in their path, greeting with smiles and quick nods, Jace shaking several hands as they pass. It’s all very polite and formal, reminiscent of his second mission with Alec gathering intel a few stories higher, although under less glamorous pretenses. 

“There’s a door that leads to an outside lounge against the back wall. It’s unoccupied, and you guys can follow it down to a more secluded entrance back into the building,” Magnus says, loud enough for Clary to hear beside him.

“I’ve got the loop active, you’ll be undetected to any cameras following that walkway.”

For pretenses, they pull a few drinks off of one of the trays that pass by and make light chatter with one of the waitstaff who gives a clinical smile and nothing more. When he walks away, they manage to slip through the door unnoticed and silent.

“Fifth door to the left,” Magnus says as Clary giggles to herself about something said between her and Jace. “It leads into a laboratory, I’ll give you access when you’re closer.”

“Copy,” Alec murmurs, leading Jace as he downs the flute of champagne before they both toss aside their glasses into one of the planters along the way. 

They reach the door quickly, and in a practiced manner Magnus types the access code as Alec turns the handle. “The door to your right leads to the stairs. There’s camera access available in almost every room except for the third underground floor where they have containment cells for testing, so that’s where we suspect they’re holding Ragnor and Aldertree.”

There’s a nod that Magnus can barely make out in the darkened grainy footage of the room camera, but it’s enough for him to wait for Alec’s next steps. Beside him Clary offers him a small smile as she runs Jace through the same plan.

They’ve agreed that Alec would lead, that Jace would follow his guide just a few steps behind him in case anything should happen. Magnus knows it’s a good plan, knows it’s the safest thing, but the idea that Alec is putting himself into the line of fire first doesn’t bode well with him, and the only thing that alleviates some of the pressure from his shoulders is the fact that Jace is trained for this sort of scenario, just as skilled in his precaution to keep an eye out.

Alec keeps close to the wall when he rounds onto the stairs, taking them down two at a time as he and Jace both retrieve the guns hidden under their jackets. He pauses once, twice, when he suspects a noise to be someone down below, and Jace follows dutifully. In the camera feed that plays on his computer screen, Magnus notices the dreary gray of the stairs for the complete juxtaposition of the way they look coming down them, dressed to the nines and looking entirely over-dressed for any sort of combat.

That’s what makes it all the more impressive, because Alec with his coiffed hair that’s just slightly slicked with product and thin silky lapels of his jacket, gives no hint to the skill and rigorous training that’s given him the ability to take down any opponent with pinpoint accuracy, as proven time and time again. Jace, just a few steps behind Alec with a cascade of blond that falls just over one eye as he peeks forward to scout the stairs, whose loosened red tie and tight fit of his suit do nothing to contain the brute strength and reflexes that can take anyone out just as swiftly as he can move. 

They’re as handsome as they are deadly.

“The bidding is starting for some of the weaponry, the blueprints should be up not long after,” Catarina informs behind them, and Magnus turns to Clary with a nod. 

“They’ll be auctioning the blueprints soon, Archer. Hopefully that gives us more space to work with, as they’ll be busy securing the event from any threats of thievery or violence.”

“We need to move quickly then. We’ve got a limited window of opportunity to get the targets out of the building and we need to take advantage of it.”

“Speaking of taking advantage of things,” Magnus trails with a crooked smile to nobody but himself.

The video on the screen of his laptop is clear enough that Magnus can see every twitch of Alec’s lips, can see the way his eyes cast down as he struggles to keep the smile off of his face. He’s unsuccessful, but just barely, and as if to fight fire with fire, Magnus is struck with the hazel eyes and half-smile Alec fixes him with once he’s scouted out the camera location in the staircase. This time, Magnus doesn’t hate the giddiness that swoops into his stomach. He doesn’t hate the way he has to bite his lip to keep the propositions from falling out as he stares at Alec’s entrancing face, looking impossibly more rugged and handsome through video than in person.

“Bane.”

The air rushes out of Alec’s mouth and into the comm in Magnus’ ear, a genuine laugh compared to the one surrounded by strangers, and he finds that he’s swaying in his chair before he even realizes it. Alec’s about to respond, the beginning notes of a word comes out, but Jace’s hushed voice behind him stifles it and brings back the hardened expression of Alec on a mission. There’s one more glance up at the camera, just a quick motion that Magnus appreciates, before Alec’s regaining control again and taking those final steps towards the door that leads them to the third underground floor.

That step is the next signal for Magnus to continue, and Jace remains balanced a few steps higher, back against the wall and gun poised just in case. “There’s a guard on patrol in the perpendicular hallway to the right, you’ll have to take him out unless you want a distraction, but this early on it’s only going to make things harder later.”

Alec turns to Jace and makes a motion that only the two of them seem to understand, before he answers Magnus. “Save the distractions for when we need them. We’ve got this.”

The plan before him unfolds wordlessly in quick succession, and Magnus keeps a keen eye on the upcoming path, searching for any possible obstacles or deterrents that may pop up as they take quiet steps down the hallway.

In a hurry, Alec takes two big strides across the exposed area where the two hallways meet, planting himself opposite Jace who tilts his gun up so the hilt is ready and waiting. At the sound of Alec knocking against the wall, the guard turns and takes slow steps towards them in the unknown, reaching for the gun resting against his hip. Closer and closer he moves, slowly, until he rounds the corner on Alec in the same moment that Jace projects the handle of his gun up into the cerebellum of the man's skull, dropping him to the ground with a grunt and jerky movements. 

Jace makes quick work of the body, dragging him over and into the staircase with only minimal effort from the weight of him, while Alec takes cautious steps towards the next split in the hall. 

“Left,” Magnus directs quickly, and Alec listens. “Take the next right and that should lead you to the room with the holding cells. Just be alert, remember there’s no working camera we can find in that area. Belcourt surely wants no evidence possible of any experiments that must go on in there.”

_Please be alive, Ragnor_ , Magnus thinks to himself as Alec continues forward, steps falling silent on the ground with the padding under his dress shoes and his low breathing coming through on the comms. 

The path ahead remains open, and Magnus hates the dubious notion that something is wrong. The blueprints were what Belcourt was after in the first place, and they’ve got that successfully locked upstairs in the room full of delegates who are itching to obtain them. But is that reason enough to warrant one guard for several yards of unprotected space that presumably leads to two captured spies? 

The mission, as hasty and patched up as it is, was only made aware to those of them in the room. Was there some way that they’ve been compromised already? Is there something they’ve missed along the way, some glaring red flag that they’ve overlooked? 

Ragnor’s file comes to mind, recollections of a suspected double agent and the havoc they bestowed in just a few weeks, leaking crucial information and mission details for who knows what, to Belcourt Enterprise. 

_“In his reports, most of these instances he’s documented belong to and lead back to you.”_

Alec had outed Ragnor’s suspicions to everyone, and they had shrugged them off as false because Robert Lightwood had distracted them with the blueprints. But what if that was their first mistake? Who is Robert Lightwood to Catarina and Magnus besides another face and a paycheck? Whereas Alec and Isabelle are more trusting of their father, Magnus and Catarina should have held strong to their integrity and seen Ragnor’s last call for what it was.

“Archer,” Magnus finds himself hissing out, “wait!”

But his words are too late, because as soon as Alec swings open the door that leads to the containment cells, several people are on him at once.

He watches with tunneled vision and heightened senses as Alec grunts in pain when a fist collides with the side of his face, and continues when Alec exerts all of his strength into a punch that connects directly under the jaw of the man that’s on him. More men swarm forward and pull him into the room, hold tight to the arms and legs that kick and struggle as Alec tries to break out.

“Archer!” he cries out into the comm, shouts at the computer screen as the events unfold before him. “Alec—no!”

Clary is quick to respond to his pleas with a quick instruction to Jace: Fall back and get out.

In the feed of the hallway camera, Magnus sees Jace’s quick exit and his last shot of Alec before they pull him completely in is the way his body falls motionless with what Magnus presumes to be a tranquilizer being jabbed into his neck.

“Fray,” he trembles, turning wild and pleading eyes to her that she only gives a moment’s look, before furiously scanning through the multiple video feeds as she figures out what to do next. “Fray, Owl needs to do something. We have to get Archer out of there!”

“I’m thinking,” she snaps, her fingers tapping quickly as she pulls up files after files, searching for something Magnus isn’t privy to in his frantic worrying. 

The fear grips him harder than anything, the fear that this time he really did get Alec killed. It was his direction, his orders to go through the door. He was the one who didn’t notice the ease with which they made it through, not until it was too late. He’s been on two missions with Alec, he’s seen the heavy smattering of guards that normally occupy these facilities, and he’s navigated Alec first hand through guard after guard. Why would this mission be any different, with or without the blueprints safely upstairs? 

Why did Magnus not question it when they only came into contact with one person in the entirety of three floors between their start and end point?

With shaky fingers, Magnus taps out on the keyboard until he pulls up the camera feed and stares into the screen where the red “UNAVAILABLE” flashes, where a camera angle of the containment cells should be, where he sees his first mistake.

“It was a trap,” Magnus hears behind him, Catarina and Simon informing their partners, and soon to follow is the warm, comforting hands of his friend on his back and the press of her forehead where his hair sits high on his head.

“Magnus, you didn’t know,” Catarina whispers.

“I should have. It was so obvious,” he chuckles darkly, cold running through him as he moves away from her to lean forward for even a hint of Alec in the video box that shows the hallway. “We knew there was a double agent, we knew who it was, and we didn’t think twice about this being a trap.”

At that, Clary glances over. “You know who the double agent is?”

With the roll of his eyes, he motions between himself and Catarina in agitation at the oversight everyone else seems to have regarding Robert Lightwood. “Ragnor suspected it was Robert, and instead of getting down to the bottom of it, we stupidly fell into his plan. He’s the only other person who knew about the mission.”

Simon chimes in with the swivel of his chair. “What would Robert have to gain from sending his family to get captured?”

Though the logic of the question is valid, the agonizing anger that fills Magnus takes over and he storms out of his own chair that slams back into the wall. “I don’t care what Robert does or does not have to gain from throwing his children into the middle of a battlefield, who knows what goes through the minds of these people who breed children to be expendable soldiers.” His words are sharp, stinging in the wince that Clary tries to hide with the turn of her head. Catarina steps closer to him, palms raised, but Magnus is riled and won’t be calmed. “No! You guys aren’t seeing it, you guys are blinded to the truth and the longer we sit here and argue about whether Robert is the double agent or not, the longer our best friends remain hidden from us with no clue as to whether they’re dead or alive.”

Isabelle must say something in the moments that proceed, because Simon reflexively moves his hand to his ear and turns back to the computer. “The bidding is going to begin on the blueprints. If Serpent and Envoy can’t get them, they’ll need to do a swap before they’re handed to the highest payer. I’d say we have roughly an hour or two before everything is finalized.”

The mood is grim with the daunting realization that half of their mission has already failed, and the other half is up in the air with no real chance for success ahead of it.

“I know, Owl,” Clary mumbles quietly as she taps away at the keyboard, and over her shoulder Magnus can see the files of other Clave members floating onto the screen, can see the way she skims them in search of something. “No, he’s on a mission in Texas. We could try Adamas but I don’t think she’s close enough to make it in time.”

“What are you looking for?” Magnus asks.

“If we could get someone else, some backup for Owl, we might be able to still pull this off. We know that based off of the video from the hall there are at least seven guards in the room right now, give or take a few. I know what Owl’s capable of, that’s doable with the preparation and backup he’d need.”

“Alright,” Magnus agrees coolly, quickly, to the unoffered proposal. “I’ll go, just give me gear.”

There’s silence that meets him, baffled looks from Simon who has his head craned awkwardly, and Clary who seems to be waiting for the punchline to the joke. But there is none, because every drop in the well of his humor has dried up and evaporated with the heat of his intention to rescue Alec, Ragnor, and Aldertree. 

When nobody makes a move, Magnus heads for the piles of gear himself and begins to pull them out one by one. The tremor of his hands refuses to still, and he fumbles awkwardly with the first couple items he gets his fingers on. There’s a noise behind him, the squeak of a chair that’s quiet under the throbbing in his head and the clatter of the holster as he slides the belt of it through the loops of his pants. He’ll need a gun of course, he’ll need a knife too, and maybe he could even try his hand at a smoke grenade or—

He’s pulled from his thinking by what he expects to be Catarina, but is actually the wary assistance of Clary beside him, grabbing a holster from the bag and buckling it around her thigh without even a question before she slides a gun into it. 

“Archer wouldn’t want this,” she states, solemn.

“Archer’s not really in a position to complain.”

She snorts humorlessly, but says nothing more and sneaks a few inconspicuous weapons onto her person. Magnus follows her lead, mentally chastising his hands for being so fucking shaky when he lifts the gun in his hand and shoves it into the holster against his leg. He can do this, he’s got this. 

It doesn’t matter that his training didn’t fully cover on-the-field combat, or that the extent of his shooting capabilities don’t leave the premises of a shooting range with Ragnor and Cat once a month. _“You can achieve anything with the right amount of focus,”_ Ragnor’s words from various teachings sifts into his thoughts, tying up the loose threads of his resolve into something makeshift but manageable.

He just needs to focus, needs to force his body to accept that this is the route he has to take to save Alec, Ragnor, and Aldertree. He needs to at least try, because every minute that ticks by waiting for help to show up is a minute on the timer of their lives.

When he finally turns back, it’s to the sight of Simon sitting where Clary had previously occupied, muttering to himself something unintelligible to Jace in the comms. 

“Alright,” Clary says with hasty, feigned leadership, dissimilar to Alec’s. “Bane and I are going to take the car to Belcourt Enterprise to meet up with Owl and continue our mission to find and retrieve the targets. Force,” she nods to Simon, “you’re going to be directing us through Owl, you’re going to make sure we get in safe. Blue,” she turns to Catarina who nods solemnly, “you’re in charge of Serpent and Envoy, help them get that bid.”

“Bane,” she says at last, turning to him with an impenetrable gaze. “I hope you’re ready.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The ride to the meeting spot is relatively quiet, and Magnus takes this time to settle the tumultuous storm brewing inside his mind. There are warnings that pour into every crevice of doubt he holds, words that emphasize just how unprepared he and Clary are, that remind him how little he’s been trained for this sort of mission. All of it chips away at the shreds of his confidence, but the solitary thought that battles against it is the other part of him that reiterates exactly how much Alec and Ragnor need him. 

He was irrational in his decision to come help Jace, he’ll admit, but he holds not even an ounce of regret if there’s a chance he could save them.

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how to shoot it well?”

The obvious discomfort at the question Clary throws out to him is enough of an answer, but she doesn’t push it any more than that. 

“Why did you let me come?” He asks, curiosity spilling over into reality. 

“You’re tenacious,” is her response, her mouth twisting in an odd way as she works the words over in her head before they come out. “You wouldn’t have stopped until we let you leave, and I wasn’t about to let you go get yourself killed. At least, not alone,” she winks with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

If he tries, he can see an alternate world where they’re just two friends on a drive, two people who met organically and uncomplicated. Not the reality that they’re two Watchers steering head first into their death. It’s easier to pretend it’s not a mission with nobody in their ear, easier to pretend if Magnus doesn’t move and feel the weight of the gun against his thigh or the knives that dig from their sheath against his foot. 

He hopes for Isabelle’s sake that Clary makes it out with them.

  
  
  


* * *

Maneuvering close enough to the building without being detected proves to be a harder feat than anticipated with the physical prowess they lack, and Magnus finds himself huffing beside Clary when they finally manage to find Jace near one of the entrances in the back. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jace mutters, taking in the sight of them as he opens the door. “I asked for help, not anchors.”

Clary slaps his shoulder and scoffs, motioning towards the dark room they find themselves in. “Sorry, but we don’t get the pleasure of having someone directing us and making it easy.”

Simon says something that they don’t hear, because Jace suddenly nods and steps towards the door at the other end of the room, ignoring Clary altogether. “Serpent and Envoy have been outbid,” he tells them, sliding through after a beat and slipping into the stairwell Magnus remembers from earlier in the camera feed.

At that news, he feels something drop in his stomach, another crux of the mission falling apart before their eyes, and all of them powerless to stop it. It should make sense. They expected it, and it’s reasonable all things considered. They’re a small group of underdogs who have set themselves against the powerhouse of other countries with all of their eyes set on the same goal, only they haven’t got the backing of billions in currency. 

It doesn’t make the defeat any harder to accept.

“Serpent believes she can weasel a swap if she plays her cards right,” Jace adds, tossing out a little bit of hope.

There’s a burning in his legs by the time they make it to the bottom of the stairs that makes his appreciation for the finesse of Alec’s strength and control increase tenfold. With a look behind them at the daunting flight of stairs, Magnus wonders how they expect to make their way back up them with three potentially unconscious bodies, but he doesn’t get to wonder for long because Jace is moving again, signalling them to stand back while he steps through the door and into the hallway. To his right on the steps that lead down to the fourth underground floor lies the body of the guard from earlier, unmoving and pale where he’s crumpled against the wall. 

In his mind, Magnus sees Alec during their first mission dragging the body of a nameless guard to sit against the wall, forgotten. He remembers just an hour ago when he instructed them on taking this man in front of him out, and remembers how quickly and without hesitation they had done it. 

Bile begins to rise inside of him, threatens to spill out the contents of his stomach onto the concrete floor beneath him, and finally he looks away.

“They haven’t placed anyone else in our path,” Jace says, hushed. “To our knowledge they still have all the guards in the room with Archer. Force is going to override the lights in the hallway, and we’re going to draw out some of them with a shot to the ceiling.”

Magnus nods along with Clary, and with deliberate, careful steps, they move forward.

When the lights go out around them, Magnus finds himself pressing his back against the wall and gripping tight to the gun in his hands like he’s seen Alec do several times before. It feels wrong and foreign, his body feels too elongated stretched like this in an uncomfortable tension, but he remains where he stands and tries not to flinch with the sound of the unsilenced bullet that echoes in the hall.

A murmur of sound filters in from the room, and Magnus can see the strip of light appear along the wall as the door pushes open. Here in the darkness, they have the element of surprise, they can see exactly where the guard at the door is, can see him from the shadows where their senses have adjusted yet he remains blind. 

Silently, Jace steps forward and Magnus holds his breath as the guard steps out far enough for Jace to yank him into the darkness with a grunt and the cracking sound of bones colliding. There’s a yelp of pain, unheard of before to Magnus, and then the gurgle of blood that fills an open mouth and splatters to the floor. 

The bugs inside of his stomach are back, angry and vicious and striking where they scratch against his stomach with thinly veiled threats of vomit, but Magnus keeps it together, keeps his mind focused on the task at hand where Alec remains behind that door.

There’s a resolute quietness that takes over, and with the light sounds of his boots on the ground, Jace steps forward to meet the door and open it wide enough to lob a small smoke bomb in there.

Immediately, the scattered sound of stumbling footfalls fill the void, the slide of shoes and clanging metal as miscellaneous items fall to the floor in the guards’ attempt to get away from the smoke. But there’s only one entrance, and as they file out in a messy group, Clary and Jace fire quick bullets in their direction.

Some fall to the floor while others shoot into the unknown hallway, bullets ricocheting and bouncing off of the concrete with the clatter of death catapulting each one. Some who realize the gas isn’t deadly stand back with coughs and wait behind the thick smog. Jace steps through the door first and Simon flickers the lights back on when he does, giving them vision of the numerous bodies littering the ground and the floor that puddles with blood faster than Magnus could ever anticipate. He and Clary step around them, try not to slip on the slick pools and pointedly ignore the slow-turning glaze of eyes that will never fall shut.

The room inside is large, enough to house all of the guards and plenty more, but thankfully only few remain, and Jace takes one of them out with a brash fist as another man jumps at him from behind. The surprise attack works for what it is, but Clary is quick to help with a high kick to the space between his legs that gives Jace the opportunity to turn around and thrust his knee into the man’s face as he falls.

Magnus notices now the sweat and blood as it mingles on Jace’s face and drips down to soil his suit, though Magnus isn’t sure how much of it actually belongs to Jace.

But that’s the least of his concern, because bound to a chair in the corner is Alec, head hung with his chin to his chest, caked blood and bruises strewn across his cheekbones in all the spots Magnus remembers brushing his fingers over only hours ago. He’s quick to rush over, rapidly falling to his knees where Alec sits with an anguished cry and gentle hands that undo the ties that bind him. This — This isn’t a version of Alec Magnus ever wants to see again, battered and unconscious.

“Archer,” Magnus begs. “Archer, please! Wake up.”

There’s no response, no awareness in the heavy droop of Alec’s body and Magnus can feel the tears stinging the corner of his eyes. 

“Bane,” Clary grits out as she pulls open one of the small cells where Ragnor sits in the corner, a dirty, bruised and beaten heap. 

Magnus does his best to contain the sobs that will themselves out as he shuffles over, but when Ragnor coughs weakly into Magnus’ chest as he pulls him close, he allows a few to escape. “Fuck, Ragnor. Thank god you’re alive.”

Words attempt to come out in the wheeze and groan that leave Ragnor’s throat sounding vaguely similar to “Can’t kill me if they tried,” but the blood that rushes through his ears in relief is too loud to properly decode it.

“We need to get out,” Jace reminds them, ducking down to lift and turn Alec’s face in his hands. “I don’t doubt they’ll be on their way soon, and they’re go—”

A piercing shot rings out, and the startled whip of his head affords Magnus the opportunity to see the shock on Jace’s face as he stares down at his chest in his slow descent to the floor.

Clary’s scream follows with the realization that the shot ended in Jace’s back, and she immediately moves to catch him when the click of another bullet at the ready stops her in her tracks. “You’ll stay where you are if you don’t want to end up like your friend,” a high, feminine voice speaks from the doorway where a woman stands in a flowing bundle of red tulle and fitted rhinestone bodice, long black hair falling straight down the length of her back and gun angled menacingly in Clary’s direction. 

“Camille Belcourt,” Clary snarls, glaring over at the woman. “Decided you wanted to do your own dirty work for once?”

The smile Camille presents to her is more of a sneer, and as she steps forward a man follows behind her in the shadows. “I prefer to stay out of things, but you lot have caused my team and I quite a lot of trouble tonight. Couldn’t just accept that I had the Lightwood kid for myself, could you? He’ll be quite the ransom, I’ve heard he’s very valuable.”

Magnus wants to yell out at her, to steal her attention away from Clary, but it strikes him that here in the confines of Ragnor’s cell Camille doesn’t see him. So he waits, bides his time with his gun weighted and the bullet of opportunity heavy in his hands.

“How did you know we’d show up anyways?” 

Camille rolls her eyes and waves two fingers in the air for her companion to step into the room, and it’s Clary’s gasp of betrayal that alerts him to the double agent he suspects to be Robert Lightwood.

Only it’s the cry of “Aldertree?” that has Magnus reeling, falling back against the wall in a slump of confused misunderstanding.

Aldertree, Ragnor’s partner, is the double agent?

“It’s been exhausting having to work under that imbecile Lightwood for so many years,” Aldertree laments. “How many times I wanted to give up, to abandon my mission and go back empty-handed just to get away from him.”

They’re thrown into a deafening silence, with questions and accusations on the tip of Magnus’ tongue. But he refuses to speak, intending to sit firmly against the wall with Ragnor’s weight a binding pressure against his side. “What was your mission?” Clary demands, stronger than Magnus believes he would be if their positions were switched. 

“I’ve been keeping a watchful eye on Valentine once word of his testing and resulting fatalities made it into the news, although I was stationed in the UK at the time,” he begins, taking a step forward. “However as it turned out, Ms. Belcourt here also had tabs open on her competitors, and with a hefty purse to sweeten her words, she hired me to gather information on Valentine.”

“So then why not work for Valentine?” 

Aldertree tuts, taking yet another step forward. “I’ve worked with Valentine in the past, we have a bit of a rocky history so I couldn’t just waltz in and expected to be greeted with open arms.”

“So you chose to infiltrate The Clave instead?” 

Beside him, Camille takes in the bodies beside her on the floor, keeping her gun trained on Clary as she steps away from the blood and further out of Magnus’ sight. 

“I needed resources, darling Clary Fairchild.”

Clary winces at her name tossed out carelessly between them, what little bit of personal information that kept her protected dissolved in two words. “You could have gone somewhere else, chosen another company,” she suggests, years too late.

“With ties so close to Herondale? She’s ruthless, she has no qualms about getting what she wants and she’s not afraid to sacrifice lives to get it. She knew about the blueprints long before anyone else did, I’m sure of it, and her passionate hatred for Valentine blinded her to reason. It was only too easy to convince her that we should steal the blueprints for the better good, before other countries got a hold of it and used it against America.”

When Clary doesn’t speak, Aldertree continues with his snobbish demeanor and tale of deception. “It was working quite well, better than I expected it to, although the advancements on Valentine’s side took longer than I’d have preferred. My only snag came when that Lightwood brat deemed himself holier than thou and forced himself into my mission.”

The words are spitting and hostile where they leave his mouth, and Aldertree raises the gun previously held at his side to face Alec, clicking back the hammer and preparing the bullet with his finger on the trigger.

Magnus lifts his own gun at the sight, slow and unbeknownst to Aldertree who isn’t facing him. Next to him, Ragnor shifts and Magnus feels his heart rush with the pounding in his chest at the culpable worry that Ragnor might give them away. But he doesn’t, because despite the immense pain and stress Ragnor’s body has had to endure for who knows how many days, his mind is still resilient and alert to the very present danger they’re in.

“How did Alec ruin anything?” Clary jumps in, trying to bring the focus back to her.

“My plan was simple,” he explains. “I couldn’t risk Ragnor escaping and giving me away, so I planted an idea in his head that Robert was suspicious of him, that I had received direct orders to keep an eye on him and report back with what I observed. It didn’t sit well with Ragnor, naturally, and his suspicions grew the longer I fueled it. When the time finally came to retrieve the blueprints from the Valentine vault, I convinced Ragnor that Robert was going to use this mission as a reason to frame him with false evidence and have him caught and captured by Valentine’s men. He fell into it pretty easily, months of suspicion will do that to you, I suppose. So when I asked him to send someone else, that they would be safe as long as it wasn’t him, he agreed all too quickly and sent that pitiful Magnus Bane.” 

Hurt stings in the corner of Magnus’ eyes at Aldertree’s explanation, and though he wants to turn to Ragnor, he remains unmoving. 

“And that’s where the almighty Alec Lightwood traipses into this story, forever holding himself above everyone else with his unsurmountable superiority,” Aldertree bites out. “For whatever reasons, he demanded he take the mission with Bane, weaseled his way in with his father who agreed that despite all the dedication and time I poured into that mission, it was better if Alec Lightwood took my place.”

The jealousy and spite hang tangible in the air, and Magnus thinks that he hears Camille yawn in the space past the cell where she still stands, but the implications of Aldertree’s confession sticks in his mind and swarms the memories of that day two weeks ago. 

Did Alec really force himself into Magnus’ first mission? Was it really planned?

He had acted like a stranger that day, so cold and callous, an unwelcoming presence that Magnus had assumed was due to the surprise at the prospect of working together. Had it really all been predetermined by Alec himself?

The moment to ponder these thoughts vanishes with Clary’s voice, laced with obvious confusion. “But the blueprints still got retrieved in the end, what does it matter that it was Alec who got them instead of you?”

Aldertree’s voice cuts in again, sharp and hateful. “Bane was supposed to die, and I was supposed to be ‘captured’ by Valentine, with nobody the wiser to my deception as I handed over the blueprints to Camille and left the country.”

A tremor runs through Magnus at the chilling dread and whatever words Aldertree continues to spew is drowned out by the ice that freezes in his veins as he digests this crucial bit of information. Beside him Ragnor shifts, but Magnus’ mind is not in this cell. He’s caught in the faded memory of his first visit to The Clave where he remembers the familiar face that had turned a suspicious glare to him beside Robert that day, familiar but not memorable enough to place. And now, looking up at the marred lines of disgust and treachery, Magnus recognizes the face of Victor Aldertree in passing visits to the tech shop, holed up in Ragnor’s office long after Magnus leaves for the night with fake smiles and false friendship. 

And here Magnus sits in the shadows, living past his expiration date, wondering how different all the lives in this room would be playing out if Aldertree had been successful.

Alec saved his life that day, and neither of them had even known.

“Why did you pretend to get captured with Ragnor?” Clary inquires, vigilant in her search for answers.

“Ah, you see my dear partner Ragnor decided that some of my evidence came with,” Aldertree purses his lips, “loose ends. Suddenly I started to become the suspect, I started to be the one under the line of fire in his questioning. It worked out perfectly for me, of course, because he inadvertently handed me the chance I needed before, the chance to steal the blueprints from Robert Lightwood and hand them over to Belcourt. All that was left was to dispose of him before he ratted me out.”

Clary seems at a loss for words and Magnus isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing, but ever the villain, Aldertree presses on. “Plans change, I suppose. I expected Bane to come after Fell, maybe Lightwood with him for whatever reason they’re connected. But this?” He motions between Jace and Clary with a wicked laugh. “This is more than I could have expected, more than I deemed myself worthy of.”

A groan, weak and pained, emerges from Jace’s body on the ground as if being summoned, and everything happens so suddenly Magnus doesn’t have time to process any of it as it unfolds before him.

In a reactionary movement Aldertree directs his gun down to Jace, and in his fear Magnus pulls the trigger preemptively of the pistol in his hand, the booming clap of it’s release startling Clary as she scrambles to the floor and out of the way with a quick shot herself towards Camille and Aldertree.

Ragnor’s body tenses where they’re pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, and Magnus wonders how his friend can be trembling and stiff at the same time. Only, it’s then that the shaking of the gun in his vision hits him with the knowledge that it’s his body wracked with aftershocks, his knuckles that are white with the tight grip he has on the unsteady weapon.

And as Aldertree drops to the ground with blood that spreads bright red against the crisp white of his shirt beneath his suit and eyes trained on Magnus, he sees first hand the soul as it leaves someone’s eyes.

* * *

The peak of the sun over the horizon as day breaks always seems to hold a quiet sort of reverence and mystery for what the day will bring for Magnus.

Today, however, he doesn’t have to guess at what it will bring. Not with the acrid taste in his mouth and bitterness that refuses to fade with the copious amounts of mouthwash he swishes around in it. Because the sun as it rises into the cloudy sky brings the face of Victor Aldertree, who will never see another morning, who will never get justice served to him because of a choice Magnus made to pull that trigger.

It’s not without the complete conviction that Magnus believes he deserved it, but there’s something about the way his hands look now, stained with an invisible red that he can’t scrub away, that he sees only in his own vision because he’s killed now and that blood on his hands will never disappear.

Perhaps he’s not cut out for this life, after all. Maybe he just doesn’t have what it takes to willingly put himself in the position to release another bullet.

He tries to think of all the people that died last night, tries to picture their faces in vivid detail as they fell to the floor, and maybe that’s where his mistakes lie. Maybe that’s why the fact that he’s alive despite the negative timer over his head keeps holding him back from letting go of them. All of these people in his mind, all of these bodies that he sees drenched in blood and filling him with horrors… They don’t have names, they don’t have any attachment to anything in Magnus’ life besides that moment in time where they were a threat, and that’s the hardest pill for him to swallow.

Despite the fact that they just as easily could have killed him, Alec, Jace, or even Clary… there’s likely someone out there waiting by the phone, or staring at the door for a body that will never make it back. They’re still a human being with a life outside of corporations, enterprises, and billion dollar weaponry. People who deserved better than the fate of Victor Aldertree, deserved more than this life that Magnus helped bring an end to. 

_You can’t think like that, Bane._

Alec’s words fill his head, remind him that he’s not the bad guy he believes himself to be. If he hadn’t pulled that trigger on Aldertree, Jace—

_Enough._

There’s no point dwelling on a past he can’t change, a past he longed to be a part of many months ago and remained undecided on if he wanted to stay in. It’s a past that he needs to make a decision on if he wants to let go of now.

As if on cue, a groan sounds from behind him and, with one last look out the window at the slow-rising sun, he makes his way over to the infirmary bed that Alec lays bundled on.

“Good morning,” Magnus hums softly as he settles back into his chair beside the bed. 

An eye peeks open, curious as it takes in the shape of Magnus’ face with a quick once-over, before screwing shut in a grimace when Alec shifts to get comfortable. “I feel like shit.”

Magnus wants to laugh, and maybe Alec expects that response, but with the sullen thoughts that battle in his head stifling him, it doesn’t quite make it out. “That’s what happens when you get caught, beaten, and injected with a tranquilizer.”

At that, Alec opens both his eyes to squint at Magnus. “Yeah, that’ll do it.”

The silence should be comforting in the fact that everything worked out after all, that they got exactly what they were after and all detours aside, it was a mission success. But somehow, it’s not. In the silence rests all the things left unsaid, all the moments in time frozen and glossed over, all the hurt and anger and resentment for people who aren’t alive to unleash them on anymore.

“Care to catch me up on how exactly we ended up back here?”

As Alec situates himself once more in a better position to listen, Magnus enlightens him to the events of the night, how Clary had come with him to help Jace rescue Alec, Ragnor, and Aldertree. He pauses for dramatic effect in his regaling of Aldertree’s betrayal, though it does little to nothing to produce the desired reaction, and though the squeeze of his hand in Alec’s is distracting from where it edged into contact, Magnus swears he can hear the muttered “If he wasn’t dead I’d kill him myself” that twists guilt low inside the part of him that’s still healing from taking a life. 

When Magnus explains the blueprints and how Isabelle was able to sweet talk and distract the highest bidder with her… _assets,_ Alec gives a smirk with cracked lips and comments proudly: “That’s my sister.”

And when he brings up Jace, with fractured ribs from the impact and shock of the bullet as it had punctured the bulletproof vest, it pulls Alec’s features into a steely frown because Magnus knows he blames himself for not being stronger, can read on his face the way he berates himself for not being there to protect him. But Alec can’t protect everyone, and despite their success, Camille still managed to slip away from the mess of dead bodies in the end.

Regardless of the pitfalls they stumbled into last night, Magnus reassures Alec with blatant disregard for the way they failed at every aspect of the mission, that they still all made it out alive, blueprints in hand. They still made it back to each other. 

Heat spreads across the back of his hand where Alec’s fingers settle against it, timid in the uncertainty of where they stand in each other’s lives now, and it prompts him to offer up the nagging admission from Aldertree about Alec’s spot in their first mission together with curious intonation.

“When I was assigned to Watch for the Valentine blueprints, Aldertree was meant to be my partner,” he states evenly.

When there’s no response, Magnus lifts his gaze to meet Alec’s from their place on the empty space of the bed between them. “Yeah,” he hears, barely a word in the gruff, low register of Alec’s voice.

“Yeah,” Magnus mirrors, searching hazel eyes for any sort of rationalization, for any explanation as to what pushed him to insert himself into something he was never meant to be a part of. “Why was it you?”

Color, just a faint hint of red, blossoms on Alec’s face as he ducks his eyes and shifts where he lays. It’s endearing in all the ways Magnus knew it would be, and he hopes the encouraging brush of his thumb along Alec’s hand will soothe the words out of him.

“I, uh,” Alec swallows. “I wanted an excuse to see you again.”

The words produce a smile from Magnus and a fluttering in his stomach that gives way to blinding optimism that the future holds more for them than this. “You could have called,” he throws out.

Alec shrugs, or attempts to around the wince of pain at the movement. “You’re going to have to update your files with The Clave. Your number was suspiciously missing.”

“I’ll get on that,” Magnus grins, the notion that Alec must have researched his file stroking his ego more than it should. “Right after I get on another, more important... _thing_ I was meant to take advantage of _.”_

The barest hint of faded color returns to Alec’s cheeks and for that Magnus laughs, scooting closer to the bed from the seat he occupies. There are more questions that float around his head, more intimate details he wants to go over with Alec, but he chooses to save them for later because their time doesn’t end here in this room, with this mission as it’s conclusion. The future isn’t guaranteed, and the reality that Camille still remains a foe shrouded in politics and shady weapons dealings still lingers in the shadows. But for now, he wants to live in the moment, wants to take this one day at a time until he’s got it figured out, with Alec by his side.

“Hey,” he announces quietly, garnering Alec’s attention once more, “how about once you’re better I take you out for a drink? I know a place.”

The smile is slow to spread across Alec’s face, and the hand that’s settled atop his tugs him closer gently by the wrist until Magnus is leaning in and Alec’s eyes are flickering down. “Yeah,” Alec rumbles low and raspy, akin to that morning in the coffee shop, “let’s do that.”

It’s with shy lips that they find each other again, sweet and slow and nothing like the first time outside of Magnus’ apartment. It isn’t perfect, their lips slot together naturally and their hands begin to roam, but Alec’s lips scratch where the cuts still heal and sometimes Magnus’ fingers will press a little too strong against the hidden bruises on Alec’s sore muscles. But somehow it works, they still manage and Magnus has to remind himself that life doesn’t have to be perfection. Life can be a surprisingly passionate romance that flourishes after morning coffee, it can be unexpected partners and newfound friends that are a result of duplicity and failures. 

Each kiss they partake in, each sensuous movement they make together brings with it the possibilities of the day that awakens with the dawn, unexpected as their lives have been the past few weeks, but welcome nonetheless. And as they carve out this new path for themselves, they leave behind the grief and trauma from the night, leaving in its wake the last of Magnus’ reservations as he jumps head first with Alec into something not left up to fate.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did!! This was truly a labor of love, and I had so much fun writing this and sharing it with you all. It was hard keeping it all in and secret and not blasting out all my ideas everywhere!!! 
> 
> I'd LOVE to know what you thought in the comments, and kudos are much appreciated it you liked it!!
> 
> Come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://bidnezz.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/bidnesszzz)! I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!


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